Perennial
by Meimi no Kage
Summary: One who was meant for the Fellowship dies long before his time setting off a domino effect that changes everything for the worst... or does it? AU WIP
1. Prologue: 346 Years Ago

**Perennial  
Prologue - 346 Years Ago  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: Before any of you kill me for what happens here in the prologue go look up the story title in a dictionary. Trust me, there will be more than enough other things to kill me for.

Note #3: Book canon and movie canon tend to blend together in an unholy alliance in my head, so don't expect the story to follow one or the other (though, I've seen the movies more recently than I've read the books). However, I'm sure many facts may still get screwed up so feel free to bonk me on the head if I really mess it up.

---

The cave, a much smaller offshoot of a larger cavern, was dark, cramped and dismal. Too small really for an elf's peace of mind, but peace had very little to do with this. He had never truly understood the Silvan's anathema to caves before, it had just seemed one of those oddities of their _very_ distant kin. Now, however, oh, now, he understood at least some of it far more than he had ever wanted too. It felt as if the weight of the world was pressing down on them -a vast, empty world- smothering them, extinguishing their inner glow as it denied them the meager touch of light and life their spirits craved for nourishment. But no, the light he could do without, it would only herald more torment. No, he preferred the dark, deep and all-consuming though it was. He welcomed it. As long as there was no light then there was respite, something they both desperately needed, for when the light returned then it would all begin again, and this time he doubted that it would end before one of their deaths.

Elrohir stifled a heavy sigh, wincing as the arrested movement caused the ache in his chest to blossom into further agony. Or should that be aches? He wasn't really sure at this particular point, he hadn't actually wanted to examine his miseries too closely. He knew they was bad enough, he didn't need to further categorize and define them. He had another concern that was far more pressing than his own physical well-being.

Legolas had not stirred even once since the orcs had dumped them in their little hole in the wall after their latest bit of _fun_. Usually by this time his friend was awake -and in a great deal of pain-, but not so this time. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, their latest 'session' had seemed a bit more vicious than usual, but he couldn't help worrying all the more. He could not see in this level of darkness, but he had no need. He knew well the torment that had been visited upon Legolas's body, even could he not feel it, but feel it he did.

Every night since they were taken, Elrohir would gather Legolas to him and await his friend's awakening. Every night his fingers would ghost over broken skin, skin that had been far too pale when last it could be seen, but that was days ago before they had both been bathed in their own blood. Now, that which had been untouched by blade, whip or fire, and other things he did not wish to recall the names of -and really, there wasn't very much left untouched upon them at all-, was covered in dirt, things he didn't want to speculate upon, countless scabs and... free flowing blood.

Legolas was still bleeding.

Elrohir sighed worriedly, ignoring his own pain as best he could as he skirted his fingers over bloody, grime slick skin, searching for the source of his friend's continued blood loss and hoping that it was just one wound. He did not think he could apply enough pressure if there was more than one. He knew there had been something wrong with his left arm ever since the initial attack and it certainly had not had a chance to heal under the orcs' _care_, but he was not so bad off thanks to Legolas.

Ever since they had been taken whilst crossing the Misty Mountains, Legolas had done his level best to irritate and enrage their captors, thus focusing the orcs' ire more upon himself rather than Elrohir. Elrohir had a sneaking suspicion that such was not an unintended happenstance. It would just be like his friend to strive to protect Elrohir even to his own personal detriment.

"Idiot," Elrohir muttered fondly, his fingers finding the still open wound at last and pressing down, "I am the elder here. It is I who should be protecting you, little Greenleaf."

"I am not quite so little anymore," Legolas rasped out, stirring at last to some form of wakefulness thanks to Elrohir's rather painful ministrations. He grimaced, feeling no need to hide his 'discomfort' since he knew his friend could not see him, their elven luminescence had faded several days ago, and wondered briefly if he would die drowning in his own blood. There was a dangerous rattle in his lungs when he breathed and a weighted heaviness that did not belong there at all. Neither lung felt as if they had been punctured, but that didn't say much. He had long since passed the point where he could tell where and just how badly he was hurt. The pain he felt was sharp and unending and it was everywhere.

"Nay, not so little anymore," Elrohir murmured, a small smile gracing his lips at Legolas's returned consciousness, "But still young."

Legolas almost snorted in derision, but thought better of it at the last second, no need to fan the flames of agony, "I? Young? I am not the twin demon spawn who are constantly dragging innocent princes into one disaster after another. Elflings, the both of you."

"Yes, I suppose we have been rather uncharitable to a certain poor, defenseless woodland prince. Alas," Elrohir chuckled lightly, wincing as even that caused the ache to sharpen. Sighing soundlessly as the vague sense of humor swiftly fled him, Elrohir leaned forward, resting his cheek against dirty hair that had once been golden fair, streaked with a glimmer he had once heard compared to mithril, but was now dyed dead, ochre brown with clotted blood, matted and tangled in knots he feared would never come out.

"You should not have done it," Elrohir said woodenly as his thoughts wandered back to their original subject, "I am well capable of handling the pain they have visited upon you. You do not need to protect me."

"Do I not?" Legolas asked hazily, not expecting an answer nor waiting for one, "Nay, I must. I would not see you fall like this."

"We are not going to fall," Elrohir stated vehemently, "Elladan will find us before that happens." Closing his eyes, Elrohir focused on that one single, tiny grain of hope that he had nurtured away from the pain he felt. Elladan, his twin, his other half, had known their fate since their capture and had been frantically searching for them ever since. Elladan would not fail them, he could not. "Do not despair. He _will_ come."

"I know, but he will not make it before one of us dies." Legolas reached up with quivering fingers, resting their tips against Elrohir's lips. "Do not argue with me about it. I have known this since the beginning and I would not see it be you." He allowed his fingers to drop as he felt what little strength he had left abandon him. "And I would not see your family fall with you. You know what would happen if you died. Your brother would be dragged into the darkness with you, for we both know he would not survive long without you. And then what? Your sister would grieve until the only choice she had left was to sail or wither and die in her sorrow. And your father? Your father would not sail. He would grieve until he faded and there would be nothing to stop it. No, this I must do and will continue to do. Do not expect me to do anything else."

"And what of you?" Elrohir accused hoarsely, doing his best to ignore the sting of tears sparking in his eyes, "Do you think I wish to see you die? And what of _your_ family? You are the only thing your father has left. Do you think I wish to see whatever joy that remains to him fade and vanish from his life? There will be no Greenwood if you die. The trees would never cease grieving. And what of me? What of Elladan and father and Arwen? Do you think that your death would not affect them? Us? Me?" His cheeks were soaked by now, wet from that which was just as bad if not worse than blood, tears. "Perhaps we would survive," Elrohir whispered brokenly, " But we would not live."

Legolas stirred restlessly against him. "Father would continue. He must, too much depends upon him. But... you are right, I should not inflict such sorrow upon any of you. It is cruel of me to even consider it. Forgive me?"

"Of course," Elrohir murmured soothingly, "I could not hold it against you to succumb to the despair for a moment when I myself have done so several times. But you must not lose hope, Legolas, Elladan will come for us. We will both live to see the sky again and the stars. You must hold on a little longer." Shifting slightly, he placed a gentle kiss of comfort upon his friend's brow before settling back down.

"I know, I am sorry," Legolas whispered, brushing his fingers against the hand that still held pressure against a wound that he knew would stop bleeding soon, though not because it had clotted over, "I am simply weary... and I want to go home."

"Just a little longer."

---

Elrohir awoke to a chill that seeped out from his bones, an unfamiliar sensation that had become the norm the past two months. He would relive all that had happened while he slumbered in reverie -though perhaps it was a misnomer to call it such now- until his remembrance came to its inevitable conclusion and then he would awaken feeling cold. His father insisted it was just a lingering physical remnant of what he had endured, he was still healing after all. Elrond wanted to hope for the best, he could not fault his father for that, but he knew better.

Elrohir was healing. Nay, he was almost healed, physically, at least. There were several broken bones that were still causing problems, but they _were_ improving day by day. His natural luminescence was even beginning to return, though it was nowhere near as strong as it had once been. Dragging his right arm out from beneath the blankets he cocooned himself within each night, Elrohir critically eyed the weak, glimmering sheen of ethereal light that once again graced his skin. He did not think it would ever be as strong as it had been, and truth be known, he wasn't sure that he wanted it to.

Shaking his head, Elrohir pushed the blankets back and gingerly sat up, frowning as his left arm began to ache again at the barest of movements. He rubbed absently at the bandages that covered the offending appendage as he scooted to the edge of his bed and lowered his feet to the floor. Grumbling at what he found -the _stone_ floor felt warmer than his feet did- Elrohir stood, yanking the dark blue robe he had left at the foot of his bed along with him. The cold was aggravating. Shoving his arms into the robe, Elrohir cinched it tightly around his waist before he stumped over to the balcony. He wasn't going to get anymore rest this night, so he might as well wile away the hours until dawn out in the fresh air. Besides, the trees were rustling at him again.

It was strange. He was of the Noldor... and somewhat human if the particulars were necessary. Either way, the trees did not speak to either. If you wanted to converse with the trees, better hope you were born a woodelf or were an Ent, otherwise, it's just not going to happen. And going into specifics again, they didn't really speak to him per se. But it couldn't be said that they ignored him either, not since he had been brought home. They rustled their leaves at him, creaked their branches in his general direction, and pretty much did anything they felt like, short of speaking to him, to garner his attention.

At first he had thought they were angry with him. Elrohir wouldn't have blamed them if they had been, he personally felt a measure of blame that _he_ had not returned to the Last Homely House with them, at least, not alive. But that didn't seem to be the case. There was an air of what almost seemed to be encouragement whenever he walked beneath their boughs. In fact, there had been several times where he had felt an odd desire to climb up amongst the branches and hide himself in the treetops. Fortunately, so far he had denied that particular urge, he didn't think he'd ever hear the end of it from his brother if he started climbing trees when he was still healing.

They were offering him comfort, to console him and hopefully return to him a measure of peace he knew he had lost. He appreciated the sentiment, was grateful, in fact. But it didn't change anything. Legolas was dead. He had not been able to help his friend hang on long enough for them to be freed. And he would have to live with that for the rest of his life, which he knew would be considerable since he would not allow himself to wallow in his sorrow long enough to fade. Oh, he grieved, but it was hard and it was cold. He refused to acknowledge the pain that went along with it, that would not serve his purpose. No, he had other plans for it.

All that was left now was for his physical aches and pains to heal fully. Once that was taken care of, Elrohir would be able to do what needed to be done.

---

There was an overwhelming sense of desolation in the air when Elladan woke, a sense of impending doom that he could not forestall. This was different. For the past six months he had become accustomed to the sensation of choking on his own tears upon his awakening. The grief was still much too close, much too sharp and cutting, and the self-blame that went along with it was stifling. He should have been faster. No, he should have insisted his father allow him to travel to Mirkwood with his brother and... Legolas. Having a slightly infected stab wound from their last hunting trip had ultimately been _nothing_ compared to what had happened to _them_. Legolas was gone. He would not be coming back. And sometimes, sometimes he despaired that Elrohir would never return to them either.

Oh, Elrohir was present in body, healed now of the torture and torment it had suffered at the hands of the orcs. It _had_ taken awhile, but his brother was physically hale, but only that. Emotionally, mentally, even Elladan couldn't say whether his twin was healing or not. They had always had a connection, he and Elrohir, they had always been able to sense what the other was feeling, what they were experiencing, in one form or another. But during that first month, after he had carried his brother home, broken and bleeding and hovering far too close to death for comfort, their connection had... frosted over, almost as if he were observing Elrohir from behind a glacier. There was something there, something that at least told him that his twin still walked among the living, but he couldn't fathom anything beyond that.

There was something broken deep within his brother, and Elladan wasn't sure if it could ever be fixed. He didn't even know what it was. All that he knew was that everything that Elrohir was had been shattered and lost and changed beyond his ability to recognize what it was so that he could fix it. There was nothing he could do, nothing that any of them could do it seemed.

Scowling at that hopeless thought, Elladan rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up near his chest. He did not like feeling this way. He did not like not knowing what to do. And he did not like the thought of losing his brother, the reality of losing Legolas had been hard enough. Closing his eyes tightly, Elladan fought back the urge to loose yet more tears.

Legolas was dead. He wasn't coming back. Elladan would never see him again. They would never again laugh at each other's jokes. They would never regale each other with tall tales. They would never pull pranks on each other, or get into arguments, or get into the rare fight or two, or go off hunting together. They would never laze around the waterfalls drinking wine and simply enjoying a clear summer day. They would never fill a spider so full of arrows it looked worse than a pincushion. They would never fall asleep in each other's room after enjoying one of their father's feasts far, far too much. They would never do anything together again. They would never _be_ together again.

No. No, losing Legolas was far too hard to cope with as it was.

Scrubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands, Elladan levered himself up into a sitting position on his bed. This wasn't working. The sensation of impending doom wasn't going anywhere and he was just making himself even more miserable by thinking about the recent past. No, he needed to focus on the present right now. What was wrong? There had to be something that was wrong to produce this abnormal feeling of despair. What was it?

Nothing seemed to be out of place in his room, nothing different. It had to be something from without, or perhaps from within, maybe this dread was coming through from his connection to Elrohir. Not that he could feel anything different in said connection, but that didn't necessarily mean that there couldn't be something wrong. Nodding resolutely to himself, Elladan slid off of his bed and padded across his room towards the door. There wouldn't be any harm in checking.

Elladan opened the door to his room slowly, not wishing the possibility of any squeaks echoing down the hallway to disturb anyone. The hinges on his door had not been oiled in quite awhile, there really hadn't been a need. He and Elrohir had gotten into the habit of oiling their doors frequently, moving silently was a necessary part of pulling pranks after all, but pulling pranks and thus the silence needed for them had been one of the farthest things from his mind the past six months. He briefly wondered whether any of them would ever feel like having that sort of fun ever again as he stepped out into the shadow draped hallway and quietly made his way towards his brother's room. It seemed unlikely that they would ever find joy again.

A sliver of flickering light was visible around the doorjamb when Elladan drew near to Elrohir's room. Well, it appeared that his brother was doing something, Elrohir usually didn't light any candles if he was just awake. Interesting. Knocking quietly, Elladan reached down and turned the latch, not waiting for any acknowledgment as he pushed the door open. If something truly was wrong -other than the usual-, his twin wouldn't care for his company anyway, so he might as well just forge on ahead and hope for the best.

The sight that greeted Elladan when the door was open enough for him to slip inside was rather shocking to say the least. Piles of supplies covered his brother's bed and dotted the floor. There were enough supplies in Elrohir's room for a very long, very extended hunting trip. Standing amidst all of this was his brother, who was dressed as if he _were_ going on a hunting trip and was even now packing said supplies efficiently in as few packs as possible. What was all _this_?

"Is there something I can do for you, Elladan?" Elrohir asked evenly, not looking up as he sorted through a pile of woodworking tools, weeding out the best and pushing the rest off to the side. They would need to last quite awhile and he would definitely need reliable tools for arrow crafting, thus items of the best make and quality were a necessity. He could not do without a handy supplies of arrows, not where he was planning on going.

"What is all this?" Elladan demanded in growing confusion as he waved his hand vaguely around the room and carefully began to wend his way over and through the items scattered in piles across the floor. "What are you doing? What's going on?"

"I am packing," Elrohir answered simply as he continued to do just that. Equipment for making snares would be a good idea, keeping one's self fed was a necessary evil in any venture taken.

"I can see that," Elladan shot back acidly, "What I want to know is _why_ you are packing."

"I would think it would be rather obvious," Elrohir said, his voice as deadpan as before, "I am going hunting."

"Why wasn't I told?" Elladan dithered as he reached up to rub his forehead. "I didn't know we were going anywhere. I haven't planned for anything. I haven't even started to prepare everything much less start packing."

"You were not told because you are not going," Elrohir stated icily as he finally turned to look over at his twin brother.

"What? What are you talking about? Of course I'm going with you. We always go together," Elladan kept on dithering, his thoughts becoming more and more perplexed as he lifted his bewildered, grey gaze up to meet his brother's. He flinched at what he saw there. Ice. There was ice unending there, ice and hardened steel that had never before been present in the eyes of his twin, not even after all that had happened with their mother. Elrohir had never looked at him that way before. Why was he doing so now?

"You are not going, Elladan, because you are staying here," Elrohir explained as if he were speaking to a young child.

There was a moment of utter, complete silence before Elladan exploded, "Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you shutting me out?"

"You are staying here because I cannot always watch out for you, eventually something would happen," Elrohir said smoothly as he glanced back down at the organized chaos on his bed, "I am going to kill them, Elladan, and I am going to keep killing them until they are all dead or I am. I cannot handle worrying about you on top of that."

"You will leave me alone then?" Elladan asked hopelessly as he grabbed his twin's shoulders and gave him a fierce shake. They were not having this conversation. This was _not happening_.

"You have been alone since you found us in that cave, Elladan, haven't you realized that yet?" Elrohir muttered wearily, his gaze melting just enough for his brother to see how much he had lost, how much was no longer there.

"I had hoped differently," Elladan whispered, a beaten, broken note insinuating itself into his voice as he released his twin and turned away.

"You will stay here. Do not leave Imladris," Elrohir said, his tone growing stronger and more even as he turned back to the task of packing for a journey he saw no end to, "If I can somehow find my way back, I will return to you. Do not make yourself hard to find."

"It is something to hope for at least," Elladan murmured quietly as he sank down onto the very edge of the bed and hung his head. He wiped absently at his cheeks. They were wet again. Would the tears ever stop falling? Surely they would, but he could not seem to make them stop.

"There is no hope left for us, Elladan," Elrohir elucidated as he finished stuffing another pack full of the necessary tools for the road ahead, "There is only time."


	2. The Fellowship: Arrivals

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - Arrivals  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: Remember, if you're planning to kill me for what happened in the prologue, please go look up the story title in a dictionary. Trust me, there will be more than enough other things to kill me for.

Note #3: Movie canon is doing something unmentionable to book canon right now, so it's mostly in control at the moment. We'll just have to see how it goes on whether that'll change or not.

---

Rivendell changed very little from year to year. No matter how long a person strayed from the valley, years, decades, perhaps even centuries -he still had a ways to go before he knew whether that was true or not-, the Last Homely House was much the same upon their return. It was always beautiful and serene, warm and welcoming. The residents were always courteous and good-humored and its lord was always kind and affable, even if a permanent air of distraction seemed to hover over the stately elf. But all in all, it was home and Aragorn desperately needed the balm it provided to his spirit.

He had been gone from home for far too long. The years had passed quickly amongst the Dunedain and his own wanderings had typically taken far longer than he had usually planned for them. Though, the little 'errands' Gandalf came up with every now and then were the worst. They always took forever to get through and there were always far too many complications that would invariably crop up during them for his peace of mind. As if tracking down Gollum hadn't been bad enough, he had also had to drag the little wretched monster into Mirkwood. The Silvan elves of Mirkwood had to be the most brusque, rude and downright uncivil elves he had ever come across. He could well understand now the reason why the men of Lake-town avoided any and all contact with said elves.

Of course, typical to form, it hadn't ended there. Oh no, on his way out of that woebegone forest he had gotten a very oddly delivered missive from the Grey Wizard -if he had not ducked at the last minute that eagle probably would have taken off his head-, which had directed him back over the Misty Mountains and to Bree. He didn't mind Bree all that much, there were worse towns to go to, but it had been a very, _very_ long and miserable trek from Mirkwood to get to Bree. And to add insult to injury, there had been absolutely no sign of Gandalf once he had arrived.

Thankfully, the wizard had sent word to keep an eye out for a pair of hobbits -though it had turned out to be four instead of just two-, and the reason _why_ Aragorn should keep a watch out for them. Aragorn fought back a shudder at the thought of just what little Frodo was hauling around. No, he didn't really want to think about _that_ right now. What else? Ah yes, Gandalf's offhand warning to 'watch out for Black Riders who were probably hunting the little ones' hadn't quite cut it. 'Watch out for most of the Nazgul' would most likely have been a better warning. 'Beware of biting insects, mystifying little creatures that eat twenty times their body weight a day, and Glorfindel scaring the wits out of you' would probably have helped as well.

He really ought to make Gandalf pay for his last two 'errands', perhaps badgering some decent pipe-weed out of the old man would be a good start. He hadn't managed to get his hands on any decent leaves since even before entering Mirkwood, and there certainly hadn't been time enough to scrounge any up since then. Yes, pipe-weed would be a good start.

Deciding on that course of action, Aragorn nodded resolutely and turned back towards the main house. He had wandered through the gardens long enough, and though he felt like he could wander quite a while longer, he really should get back so he could check on Frodo before the evening meal. Frodo had been healed by his father, the Lord Elrond, -as much as any such wound _could_ be healed- and the little one's color was improving everyday, but Aragorn still felt inclined to check on him and make sure. He had been responsible for their well-being, after all, and while no one blamed him for what had occurred, he still harbored some guilt and self-recrimination about it.

The walk back to the Last Homely House was tranquil and serene, to outsiders the pervading silence might have hinted at a misplaced complacency, but he knew better. The elves of Rivendell were a cheerful lot for the most part, as any elves ought to be, but they weren't fool enough to not keep a watchful eye out for any creeping dangers. Aragorn knew that several of them had lost much to the darkness that continued to fester in Middle- earth, too much to not be cautious. His father and brother included.

Aragorn had never gotten the whole story out of either Elladan or Lord Elrond -or anyone else to be perfectly honest-, but it didn't take much to read between the lines what with Elladan's mother not being there and never being mentioned. And... he wasn't completely sure about it, but he had always had the niggling sense that it wasn't just _that_ that was wrong with his family. No, there had to be something else, as well, but what that could be he couldn't even begin to guess. There was so much about them that he just didn't know, even though he had been raised as a member of the family.

He'd asked Gandalf about it once long ago, the Grey Wizard was an old friend of the family so surely he'd know, and had gotten a rather unhelpful comment that hadn't told him anything at all. "It isn't always the wounds on the outside that cause the most pain, little Estel." Really, that part was obvious. What he had actually wanted to know, and still did, was what had caused said _wounds_. He had never gotten an answer for _that_ question, neither from Gandalf or anyone else.

Aragorn wondered briefly whether Gandalf and Elrond were somehow related, they could both be mystifyingly obtuse when they would rather change the subject than talk to you about something. It had been quite infuriating when he was child, though he supposed he should be thankful for it now, the patience he had learned off of their occasional strange behavior had helped him deal with more than a few rather unsavory individuals over the years.

His train of thought came to a rather indelicate, stuttering halt as Aragorn made his way through the last stand of trees before the house and he got his first good view of the courtyard and what apparently had just arrived, rather _who_ had just arrived. He had been witness to many stunning visages of beauty in his life, both human and elven alike, but Aragorn had never been told that Luthien Tinuviel had been returned to life in Arda. It was the only likely explanation, for the elf maiden standing amidst a cadre of travel weary elven warriors, Galadhrim by the look of them, was too divinely alluring to not be a gift of the Valar returned to the land.

Again, his thoughts came to a stuttering halt as his brother, Elladan, appeared in the doorway of the Last Homely House and was instantly swept into a tight embrace by the ethereal beauty. They appeared to know each other, and know each other quite well by the looks of it. Aragorn wiped the shocked expression off of his face, with no small amount of effort, before surreptitiously stepping closer to the courtyard and what seemed to be turning out to be a reunion of some sorts.

"It has been too long since you have graced this hall with your presence, little one," Elladan spoke softly in elvish, almost too quiet for his eavesdropping younger brother to hear. His eyes were closed in contentment, his cheek resting gently atop hair the color of a pure, night sky. He looked so at peace in that moment, a peace Aragorn had never known his brother had been missing.

The elf maiden tightened her embrace, her voice light and musical as she chuckled, "Aye, it has been too long a time since I have been home, my brother, and I fear I have been gone from you for far too long," She leaned back then, gazing up at him thoughtfully as he returned her regard quizzically. "You have not changed from the image I have kept guarded in my mind's eyes the past few centuries. You haven't changed in the least."

Elladan frowned slightly as he shrugged out of her grasp, "Does this disappoint you?"

The elf maiden blinked, a hurt expression flitting across her face, before she settled back into a weak smile, "Nay, of course not. It is a joyous occasion to see you, Elladan, no matter what the reason may be for it. Nay," she shook her head at the last, her eyes glittering with unending affection, "even in spite of such a reason."

Elladan gifted her with a small smile before leaning down and placing a chaste kiss upon her brow, "Go inside, precious Evenstar, father is waiting for you." He pressed a finger against her lips when it looked as if she would argue with him over his abrupt dismissal and his eyes slid off to the side, alighting upon Aragorn, "Go on, I have something I must take care of."

She scowled darkly at this, but gave Aragorn a courteous, if cursory, nod of acknowledgement before stepping around the other elf and heading into the house. Aragorn blinked at the odd exchange before turning a bewildered look upon Elladan, "Brother?"

"Aye, she is my younger sister, Arwen," the elf smirked in amusement at the poleaxed expression on Aragorn's face, "Undomiel, the Evenstar of our people."

"I didn't know we... you had a sister," Aragorn muttered, feeling some hurt at the knowledge that he had never known something as important as that.

"_We_, Estel, and yes, we do," Elladan grinned widely as he clapped his _little_ brother on the shoulder, "however, she has dwelt within Caras Galadhon for the past three centuries in the care of our grandparents."

"So she has returned home now?" Aragorn asked curiously, an almost boyish glee lighting in him at the possibility of becoming acquainted with such a gorgeous woman, and one who may come to consider him a brother, no less.

"Only for a short time, I'm afraid," Elladan explained mournfully as he glanced back at the house, "She plans to travels to the Havens within the year and sail. She has grown weary of the world and wishes to find her peace across the sea."

"Oh," Aragorn whispered, dropping his gaze to the cobbled ground of the courtyard. He knew well of the elves who traveled to the Grey Havens to journey to Valinor, perhaps better than most. He knew of the grief and hopelessness that drove most to sail, and the pure longing for a better life that drove others. And then there was the weariness, the soul deep exhaustion that beat down upon many, those who had lingered behind for too long in the lands still governed by death. He could not fault them for it, he himself grew tired of it at times. But still, he could not help but feel a looming depression over the fact that he would lose this lady to such a fate when he had just now made her acquaintance.

"Estel," Elladan called as he took Aragorn by the shoulders and literally shook his little brother out of the descending despair, "Forgive me for not meeting you earlier, I'm afraid father and Erestor have kept me quite busy today."

"Oh, that's fine," Aragorn waved airily indicating that no slight had been taken, "It is just as well, I needed a _very_ long soak after I got home."

Elladan laughed gaily at that, "Estel, you are a dirt and grime magnet. That is all there is to it. However, I shall send my thanks to the Valar that I missed your rather pungent return home."

"Ha ha," Aragorn grumbled and punched his brother lightly in the arm, "I wasn't _that_ bad. Now Merry, on the other hand, I think Merry dragged some of the sewage from Bree the entire way, and if I'm not mistaken, I think somewhere in there it fermented into something even more vile."

"Ah, so that is why the others were whispering about the little ones' continued requests for hot water," Elladan nodded in dawning understanding and chuckled.

"Indeed," Aragorn laughed outright, "I wouldn't be surprised if that was not a factor in driving off the Nazgul." He froze and winced a second later when he realized what he had just said.

"Nazgul?" Elladan asked evenly after a moment of utter silence. He cocked an eyebrow as Aragorn practically blanched at his query and folded his arms together as he waited for the explanation to _that_.

---

After nearly a week spent relaxing and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of Rivendell, or getting into all sorts of mischief in the case of the hobbits, Aragorn found himself ensconced in Erestor's office discussing some of the more pressing issues of the upcoming council with the Chief Advisor and Glorfindel. When a lull came into the conversation following a rather heated, if amusing, trade of offhand insults between the two elves, Aragorn dug out his pipe and the pouch of Longbottom Leaf he had 'borrowed' from Gandalf, whom he was sure was missing it, and proceeded to prepare and light it up.

The Grey Wizard had finally arrived a few days ago, looking more bedraggled than usual thanks to Saruman's _hospitality_, and had spent most of his time since conversing with Frodo and thus effectively avoiding most of Elrond and Elladan's ire over the subject of the Nazgul. This had, of course, allowed Aragorn free reign to rifle through Gandalf's things looking for the ever elusive pipe-weed. He had discovered a veritable treasure trove of Old Toby, Southern Star and Longbottom Leaf in his search and had helped himself to a generous amount. It would have served the old wizard right if he had absconded with all of it, but Aragorn had been afflicted with a brief attack of conscience, Gandalf _had_ suffered through Saruman's wrath, after all, and he had ultimately only taken a little less than half of the stock.

"Honestly, Estel," Erestor bemoaned, attempting to spear the offensive pipe with a withering glare and being ignored in turn by its owner, "I cannot fathom why you have not given up that deplorable habit of yours yet. It is disgusting."

"Of course he has not given it up, Erestor," Glorfindel snorted, a twinkle of mirth aglow in his eyes, "Estel has never given up a bad habit, in fact, I do not think he could do so even if his very life depended upon it."

"Hey now, I resent that remark," Aragorn pointed a finger warningly at the amused elf and puffed proudly upon his pipe, "Besides, it was Gandalf who introduced me to the satisfaction of a good smoke. How can it be a bad habit if I learned it from a wizard?"

"Because it is Mithrandir that you have learned it from," Erestor explained, his nose curled up slightly in disgust as he stood and walked over to the windows, cinching back the drapes even more so that his office would be aired out more readily, "That Istar _is_ a walking bad habit."

"If you think Gandalf and I are bad, wait until the dwarves arrive," Aragorn couldn't help a malicious little grin when both elves grimaced and shuddered in sync at that little reminder.

"Ah yes, the dwarves," Erestor chuckled nervously and made his way back towards his desk. "It has been quite some time since we have been _blessed_ with a visitation from them."

"Not since Thorin and his motley group of audacious fellows," Glorfindel muttered sourly, "Which was also Mithrandir's fault, if I remember correctly."

"Too true," Erestor groaned as he settled back down in his chair and primly folded his hands together in his lap, "The Grey Pilgrim does seems to be in the habit of visiting disasters upon our poor unsuspecting valley."

"I suppose I should do something about him one of these days," Glorfindel sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, as if he were searching for some sign from the Valar, "It _is_ my duty to oversee the safety and defense of our beloved Imladris, allowing Mithrandir to continuously disturb the peace, even if he is one of the Istari, is a bit of a black mark on my record."

"Indeed," Erestor nodded sagely in agreement, "It is something of an embarrassment, but I'm sure Lord Elrond will forgive you of this one minor failing, especially if you deal with it discreetly."

Aragorn nearly choked on a guffaw as he was inhaling an admirable pull of smoke and proceeded to nearly hack up a lung as Erestor tsked disapprovingly at him. "Planning the death of an irritating wizard still doesn't absolve you of having to figure out where to stick all of your _guests_," Aragorn rebuked acidly when he finally managed to get the coughing under control.

"It is not that we do not have anywhere to put them, we have more than enough room, it is that a particular problem has cropped up," Erestor sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose as he continued, "This particular problem is called the Galadhrim, who have been commanded by their Lord and Lady to escort the Lady Arwen to the Grey Havens and thus will be bestowing upon us their gracious company until such time as she chooses to continue her journey. I don't think I need to stress just how much all of us hope that that is not for a very long time to come. Unfortunately, our _kin_ like the dwarves even less than we do, which is to say not at all, thus they cannot be housed anywhere near each other, not without bloodshed."

"Don't forget the men," Glorfindel added smugly, knowing the response his comment would garner.

"Ai Valar! The men," Erestor lamented as he slid his hand up and began to massage at his temple, "I have been informed that there is a substantial group of them traveling north from Gondor even as we speak. All we need now is a party of orcs to descend upon us and demand food and board to make this catastrophe complete."

"Now wait just a minute," Aragorn sputtered, gesturing with his pipe to emphasize his point, "Men aren't anywhere near as bad as orcs."

"What are you getting insulted for?" Erestor scowled caustically at Aragorn, "You are not a man, you are an Estel. You don't count."

"What _is_ that sound?" Glorfindel asked, cutting in before he _knew_ they would begin something that could easily turn into a night's long argument. He himself was quite familiar with the indicators of that which would birth a very heated row between the two.

"Hmm?" Erestor hummed inquisitively, tilting his head slightly to the side as he listened.

Aragorn frowned as he focused his attention on what they had all been hearing for awhile now but had simply been ignoring in favor of verbally poking at each other. It was the sound of branches swaying and brushing against each other, bark crackling at the contact, trunks creaking as roots shifted and a countless number of leaves rustling in the wind. It sounded almost as if a storm surge was whipping through the trees, but only a light breeze was wafting in from the windows.

"It is the trees," Erestor murmured, oblivious to the fact that he was stating the obvious, and rose, walking back over to the windows so that he could look out, "They are speaking to each other, though I suppose babbling would be the proper term to use. Something has excited them greatly. I wonder what it could be. How intriguing."

All three perked up when they heard the tale tell sound of a birdcall echoing down the valley, one that had not been produced by an avian. "Someone is approaching on horseback," Glorfindel announced unnecessarily, they were all quite familiar with the secret signals, and he peeled himself up out of his seat and stretched. "It appears that one of our guests has arrived ahead of schedule."

"Aye, alas," Erestor shook himself imperceptibly and began smoothing down the folds and creases in his robes as he headed for the door, "Let us go greet them. We would not want to appear inhospitable at such an early hour."

"It is not early," Glorfindel said in mock indignation as he followed Erestor out into the hallway, Aragorn trailing silently behind them, "In fact, it is quite rude of them to show up unannounced so late in the afternoon."

"They have been announced, you fool," Erestor snorted derisively, "They were invited by the Lord himself, thus they have already been announced."

Glorfindel was all ready to shoot back a scathing remark on Erestor's 'logic' when one elven resident of the Last Homely House after the next began rushing excitedly past them. "What's going on?" he asked curiously after hooking his arm around an elf maiden, one who looked as if she had just come directly from the kitchens, halting her headlong rush.

"It is the Young Lord, My Lord," the elf maiden frowned slightly at the mild tongue twist before adding, "He has returned." She gave a small bow as she extricated herself from Glorfindel's hold and continued on her way.

"It couldn't possibly be," Glorfindel muttered as he glanced questioningly over at Erestor.

The Chief Advisor simply shrugged and resumed his trek towards the central entryway, "There is only one way to find out."

The Young Lord? Aragorn wondered. Who could that possibly be? He was buzzing now with curiosity, but decided to keep his peace. They were almost to the main doors that led onto the courtyard now, it would be much faster to see for himself than wait for either of his elven companions to explain.

Aragorn hadn't quite figured out what to expect when they finally emerged out into the courtyard, but it certainly hadn't been his brother. But no, that couldn't be Elladan. Elladan _never_ left Rivendell, yet the impossible mirror image of his brother that his eyes now beheld bore the obvious signs of travel wear. Aragorn couldn't help but stare as the incomprehensible apparition dismounted from his horse and was instantly surrounded by a gaggle of chattering elves. That horse was as much of an impossibility as the rider, because if he was not mistaken it was of the Mearas. The Rohirrim would not give a stranger, much less an elf, one of their most prized mounts.

No, that could not be Elladan. Aragorn shivered as ice grey eyes studied him for a moment then shifted over to his companions. There was nothing in Elladan so hard, so desolate as that. Nor had Elladan ever appeared as if he were prepared to step onto a battlefield at any given moment, Aragorn mused upon further observation of this familiar stranger. A sword hung at the side of Elladan's doppelganger and a hunting knife hung from the other hip. A quiver full of arrows could be seen rising over his shoulder and a bow along with it. Another quiver full of arrows was strapped to the horse's saddle and another sword was strapped to the other side. The stranger wore a garb of muted greens and brown, one that sparked a sense of recognition in Aragorn. He had seen that cut of clothing before, but he couldn't quite remember where.

"He bears Mirkwood braids," Erestor hissed over at Glorfindel. Ah, Mirkwood, that's where Aragorn had seen clothing such as that before.

"Aye," Glorfindel agreed absently, "braids that signify command if I am not mistaken." No more was said as he stepped down onto the cobbled stone of the courtyard and strode towards Rivendell's newest arrival.

"Hail, Elrohir, Son of Elrond, Lord of Imladris," Glorfindel called out in Quenya, his tone formal and strict. "Long have you been absent from these halls."

Aragorn stared outright in pure, unadulterated shock at the spectacle unfolding before them all. Elrohir? Son of Elrond? Elrond had another son? He had another... brother? Elladan had a brother? Nay, a twin brother if appearances were to be believed. How was this possible? How had he not known?

"It has been three hundred and forty-six years, to be exact," Elrohir stated in Sindarin, his voice toneless and so glacial that many of the listeners felt shivers crawl up their spines. "I do not forget the passage of time, Glorfindel."

"Of course he would not have forgotten," Aragorn heard Erestor whisper mournfully to himself.

---

viggomaniac, Setrinan, and El'sLibrarian: I really appreciated your commentary and hope the story continues to live up to your expectations and enjoyment.

Luthien Seregon: Haha, somebody didn't read note #2.


	3. The Fellowship: Meetings

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - Meetings  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: As a final reminder, if you're still wanting to kill me about what happened in the prologue, please heed the fic title. If you feel the need to kill me for anything else, -weak laugh- then I probably deserve it.

Note #3: I have absolutely no idea which canon is in control at the moment.

---

Dusk had fallen, blanketing the valley in streaming shadows, when Elrohir finally made his way to his father's study. Elrond had come to greet him in the courtyard, along with a good deal of Rivendell's inhabitants, but their lord had been quite distant and painfully formal in front of the others. Elrohir knew the reason why, of course, as did many of the other elves, but his father's reticence had quite effectively dampened the enthusiasm of all of the well wishers. As expected, by himself if no other, Elladan had not made an appearance at Elrohir's arrival.

Despite all that had come between them, all that had come to separate them, Elladan could not help but know instinctively that Elrohir had not truly returned. Something had brought his twin back to the Last Homely House, but it had not brought him _home_. No, Elladan would not greet Elrohir, not with that bitter knowledge weighing his soul down. Elladan would avoid any contact with his twin in the hopes of staving off yet more pain.

It was a pity, really, Elrohir did not wish to hurt his brother, even though he knew that was really an impossibility at this point. Still, he had matters to discuss with Elladan despite the misery it would invoke, and he planned to seek out his twin soon. But first, first he must deal with their father.

Knocking soundly on the study door, Elrohir waited for some muted acknowledgment from within, then entered. It was a fact, unless there was some great upheaval, that elves did not change from century to century. Years mattered little in the long run. And as the elves did not really change much, then as long as they were still in one place, their dwellings tended to not change with them.

Elrond's study was a bit of enigma when that simple fact was brought to bear. It did not appear any different from when Elrohir had seen it last, in fact, everything seemed to be in exactly the same spot as it had been back then. A small, well contained, blaze still crackled cheerily in the fireplace. The shelves were still full of the same familiar books and knickknacks with a stray ledger wedged in here and there. The polished wood of his father's desk and the chairs surrounding it still glowed warmly in the firelight, the desk still piled high in places with papers. The glow lights still gleamed from their usual perches, providing the study with the remaining necessary illumination that the fire could not.

All in all, it was the same, and yet, it was not.

Appearances were often deceiving, however, for it was not the overall look of Elrond's study that was different. It was the atmosphere. Where once it had been warm and welcoming, if sometimes forbidding -he and Elladan had such a wonderful track record for getting into trouble, after all-, the study now felt cold and lonely, unwelcome to all. The addition of his father sitting rigidly at his desk only seemed to heighten the sense of wrongness in the air.

"Do not tell me that you were not expecting me," Elrohir said by way of greeting as he walked further into the room.

"No," Elrond said evenly in return, his voice and expression utterly neutral, though something sparked in his eyes, "No, I have been expecting you. I have been expecting you for quite some time now."

"Really?" Elrohir murmured offhandedly as he ran his fingertips along the front of his father's desk, "My apologies, I had not intended to give you that impression."

Elrond winced visibly at that. Of course not, he knew that Elrohir had never truly intended to return to them, not like this. It would never be so simple, never so easy. Shaking his head at where that train of thought would take him, Elrond decided to focus on something else of interest about his son. "You have been in Mirkwood then?" he asked, indicating the riveting braids Elrohir still bore.

"For the past two years or so," Elrohir supplied as he finally deigned to lower himself into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I go back there from time to time, Thranduil welcomes any assistance in ridding his forest of some of the creeping foulness. The spiders are interesting to hunt, they always keep you on your toes. And then, of course, there are the orcs. There are always orcs."

"I see," Elrond nodded blankly, his mind processing what Elrohir did not say, "I had heard that Thranduil may finally be considering a new heir."

"Really, father, listening to rumors now?" Elrohir quipped, an amused smirk not quite reaching his eyes.

"When it is the only way to hear of news about my son?" Elrond shot back irritably, "Then yes, I will listen to rumors. I will wallow in them if necessary since it seems you are incapable of sending word of your continued health when left to your own devices."

"Again, my apologies, there really was nothing to say," Elrohir offered plainly, a slight frown marring his countenance. He did not think that the subject bore much deliberation and his father ought to realize that.

"Of course not, 'killed a few orcs here and there', 'killed some more orcs over there', 'lots of killing today, father', certainly _nothing_ to write home about," Elrond rebuked, his tone growing scornful. "And what of Thranduil?"

"What of him?" Elrohir asked curiously, uncertain of where his father was going with this little tidbit.

"_Is_ he considering a new heir?" Elrond demanded stiltingly, noting that the aim of the 'rumors' was finally dawning upon his son.

"Of course not," Elrohir said flatly in reproach, reaching up almost unconsciously to grip his braids, "There is no replacing what has been lost."

"Then what is there?" Elrond asked softly, hoping against hope that this time the true subject may finally be broached.

"There is nothing, only pain and time," Elrohir waved his hand hopelessly, "He wants so badly to give in, to fade. You can taste the palpable despair in the air when he is near. But he will not allow himself to let go, he has sworn to see the Greenwood restored, to see it free of the darkness." Elrohir inhaled sharply at that, turning hollow eyes upon his father, "He will see it done, father, have no fear of that."

"And what of you?" Elrond appealed further. He was not sure that he really wanted to know the full extent of the relationship his son shared with the king of the Woodland Realm, but then again, not knowing was just as bad.

"Me?" Elrohir blinked momentarily in confusion, "We get along as well as can be expected. Thranduil was never the most likeable of elves, but that is not all that he is." Biting his bottom lip thoughtfully, Elrohir tried to decipher some of that which even eluded him at times, "I suppose we have common enough ground. Our reasoning may be different but our aims are similar enough. We want to see them all dead." He nodded at that conclusion, it sounded about right, and added, "I think he finds some small amount of comfort knowing that he is not alone in that regard."

"I see," Elrond murmured, looking somewhat abashed as he dropped his gaze to where his hands lay clasped on top of his desk, "I suppose I should not begrudge him what little amount of peace he can gleam from your company."

"You are jealous," Elrohir teased, the impish grin he bore almost appearing real as his father gave him a halfhearted scowl.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Elrond admitted after a short while as he began to tap his fingers soundlessly upon the desktop, "It is just... I have not seen nor heard from you in over three centuries. I have missed you."

"I left long before then, father," Elrohir sighed in mild exasperation, "You know this."

"Aye, I do," Elrond said quietly, his fingers arrested in mid-tap as he gazed over at his son in profound sadness, "I just wish there had been something more I could have done."

"Be that as it may, it is done now, we cannot change what has come to pass," Elrohir frowned, annoyance creeping up on him. He did not need help or company when dwelling upon the past. He did not need it at all. He lived the past every second of every day, there was no need to expound upon it further.

Deciding that a change of subject was in order, before their conversation turned positively ill, Elrohir hummed in curiosity, "So tell me about the human."

"Human?" Elrond nearly parroted, perplexed for the moment at the new direction their discourse was taking.

"Yes, the human," Elrohir repeated helpfully, slightly amused at his father's reaction, "The one that was in the courtyard. I know that Imladris has often had guests from the race of Man, but they do not usually follow after Glorfindel or Erestor in greeting _other_ guests."

"Ah, Estel," Elrond exclaimed as the facts finally came together in his mind.

"Estel?" Elrohir cocked an eyebrow at that, his amusement growing along with the blossoming of a little amazement, "A human called hope? There is quite a story there, if I am not mistaken."

"Aye, quite a story," Elrond agreed, lacing his fingers together solemnly, "His real name is Aragorn. He is the son of Arathorn and thus of Isildur's line."

"The Chieftain of the Dunedain and the Heir of Isildur," Elrohir mused aloud, "What is he doing here?"

"This is his home," Elrond smiled at Elrohir's surprised look, "His mother, Gilraen, brought him here after his father was killed. He was only a child. We... Nay," Elrond shook his head, it would all ultimately lie solely at his own feet, he might as well accept the full responsibility for whatever blame may come from it, "_I_ decided it would be safer if he were raised here."

"So you adopted him then," Elrohir smirked winsomely.

"Fostered, my son, that is the word you are looking for," Elrond corrected smartly, "He is still Arathorn's son, he is simply mine as well."

"Of course, of course, forgive me for not using the proper term," Elrohir supplied hastily in appeasement. His father was known for getting his feathers ruffled from time to time when the proper term was not used for something important. It was an odd personality quirk that he had most likely learned from his long association with Erestor. "But that does not tell me why he is named Estel."

"No, I suppose it does not. And I suppose it does seem high-handed, but all I can really say is that it felt right at the time, and still does. He will be the hope for Man, just as he has been the hope for many here," Elrond trailed off then, his eyes growing vague as his mind drifted back across the years.

"You are very fond of him," Elrohir prompted when it seemed his father needed a little nudge to get back to the here and now.

"Aye, he is my son," Elrond explained simply, "We are all very fond of him. But that does remind me of something." Turning somber eyes to the youngest of his beloved twins, Elrond attempted to articulate his apprehension as best he could, "He considers me his father and Elladan his brother. These are absolutes to him. The concept of family is desperately important to him since he lost Arathorn at such a young age, and it only became more so when Gilraen passed on. He _will_ consider you his brother as well, there is nothing that can change that."

"Ah, you are concerned that I will be offended," Elrohir nodded his understanding.

"To be perfectly honest, yes," Elrond sighed, gesturing helplessly at empty air, "I know that you would never be deliberately cruel, I only ask that you try to be polite. Even if you can feel nothing for him, at least know that Elladan and I hold him dear."

"Do not worry so, father," Elrohir smiled assuredly, projecting as much good humor as he could manage, "If he is Elladan's brother, then he is mine as well. I will share with him what affection I still have left in me, though it is nowhere near as much as it once had been."

Elrond bowed his head in thankful acknowledgment, grateful for this small sign that at least there was something left of the elf his middle son had once been. Perhaps someday Elrohir would return to them. Perhaps someday he would be whole. But unfortunately, it would not be today.

---

It was not a difficult task for Aragorn to find Elladan. For as long as he could remember, if there was something disturbing his older brother -and recent events certainly ranked as _disturbing_-, then he could easily be found hiding out in the library. The elf seemed to garner some form of comfort in the gloom cast by the massive bookcases.

Aragorn did not announce his presence as he approached the still form standing amidst the shadows. It was unnecessary, he didn't know of anyone who could sneak up on Elladan unawares, be they elves, humans or anything else. His brother simply just _knew_ when there was someone there. He still said nothing as he drew near to the other, but he did reconsider how to raise the unhappy subject of _family_ when he got a decent look at Elladan.

The elf looked rather... troubled, Aragorn noted as he leaned back against a bookcase, crossed his arms and studied his brother. Elladan simply stood there silently and bore his brother's gaze, not moving, -frozen-, so much so that he almost appeared to not even breathe. But move he did, at last, as the still fingers he had pressed against the books before Aragorn's appearance now began to tentatively stroke the soft, cloth bound spines.

Taking this to be as good an indication as any that Elladan was as ready as he'd ever be, Aragorn hesitantly began, "I have a sister."

"Aye."

Aragorn winced at the tremulous whisper. Elladan wasn't just troubled, he was quite upset by the sound of it. He had not been this way at Arwen's arrival, which meant that whatever the problem was, it stemmed directly from 'Elrohir'. "I have another brother."

Elladan flinched and audibly swallowed before speaking again, his voice, at least, sounding a bit steadier this time, "Yes."

"Why was I never told?" Aragorn asked hoarsely. He had family he had never known about, might _never_ have known about. Why had no ever told him? Why hadn't he known? "Why did I not know about them?"

Elladan did not answer him. The silence between them grew, and Aragorn began to fear that there was a chasm growing between him and his brother, his family, one that he had absolutely no inkling on how to even begin to bridge it. What could have brought them to this so suddenly? What dark secret was looming between them all. Surely it must be something horrid to break them so easily.

"Estel," Elladan broke the smothering silence at last, his voice empty and lost as he brushed his fingers down the shelf, his gaze lingering there, not looking at his human brother, "Who am I?"

Aragorn blinked in confusion. How could his brother not know the answer to that? "You are Elladan."

"And who is Elladan?" Elladan asked again, his voice sounding even more lost than before.

"You are my brother," Aragorn answered plainly, totally baffled by whatever point it was that Elladan was trying to get to, "You are Lord Elrond's oldest son. I have known you all of my life. You are wise and even-tempered, a learned scholar, a talented healer and an unceasingly wise diplomat. You are, without a doubt, an elven lord's son." Aragorn would have gone further, but as the last of his words left his lips Elladan slammed his hands against the books viciously. What had he said wrong?

"That is not me," Elladan growled out, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the books tightened. "It is not who _I_ am at all," his shoulders drooped then, all anger falling from him in a rush as he released his hold and sank to his knees. "'Tis not me at all. 'Tis Elrohir that you see in me," Elladan glanced up at Aragorn finally, his eyes shimmering with soul deep heartbreak, "Elrohir was the one who was more compassionate. A tender, gentler healer you could never find. He was the one who would prefer to read a book than participate in a contest of arms. He was the one who was wise."

Elladan shook his head, closing his eyes as a single tear traced its way down his cheek, "I, Elladan, am nothing like that."

"I... don't... understand." Aragorn murmured as he kneeled down, reaching out to grip his brother's shoulders lightly, hoping to convey whatever little strength and comfort he may in the gesture.

"Of course you don't," Elladan chuckled bitterly, his gaze slipping down to his knees as he began to pick at nonexistent dust on his leggings, "They are all too scared to speak of it, fearful that one of us will break when faced with the truth. Father, Arwen, me, we are all shadows of who we used to be." He shook his head again at his own words, his hands stilling their nervous movements, "But I digress, I know well of my own failings. I have ever been too late to save them. Always too late."

"Really, Elladan, that is just like you, to take the blame for that which you had no hand in."

Aragorn froze at the comment spoken from above, the voice flat, but ever so familiar and yet utterly foreign at the same time. Slowly he pivoted around on his heels, his eyes spying a pair of black boots first, then dark, grey leggings, a midnight blue tunic, and an under tunic the same dark grey as the leggings as his nervous scrutiny traveled upwards. Of course, the clothes were nowhere near as surprising as who wore them.

Well, at least he's not armed anymore, Aragorn's mind supplied hysterically as he stared up in abject shock at his other brother. _Elrohir_. This did not bode well. No, it did not bode well at all.

Elrohir, however, had a surprise in store for Aragorn. "Estel, isn't it?" he smiled genially, forcing every little dredge of good cheer he could muster into his expression and stance. There was little he could do about his eyes, unfortunately, but hopefully their lack of association would cause his new, _little_ brother to skip over the ever present ice.

Aragorn nodded hesitantly, eyeing Elrohir cautiously. The forbidding air about the elf that he had caught a whiff of in the courtyard was still there, but it was not as overpowering as it had been. No, it was certainly not as forbidding, if that were it at all. No, he sensed something else beyond the initial fearsome sensation, something cold, cold, hard and infinitely lonely. Grief. Sharp, lingering grief.

Yes, Aragorn could see it now, could understand. He now knew why he hadn't been told, why he hadn't known about this other brother. Of course no one would speak of it, to do so would have only reopened old wounds that had never really healed. There was something broken in his home, his family, something that had been broken long before he had been born. Something that couldn't be fixed. And that something was standing right in front of him.

"Would you mind terribly, Estel, if I borrowed our brother for awhile?" Elrohir asked lightly, belying the seriousness of the situation they all found themselves in, "There is something I wish to discuss with him ere before speaking with any others."

"Yes, of course," Aragorn agreed reluctantly, sparing Elladan a guilty glance as he rose to his feet, hoping his brother did not see his compliance as some form of betrayal. It was obvious that Elladan did not wish to see Elrohir, his absence from the courtyard during Elrohir's arrival had made that painfully clear. Still, broken or not, Elrohir was Elladan's brother, his twin, and something he couldn't even hope to define told Aragorn that they both needed this. Should it turn for ill or naught, they needed to speak to each other alone, and he would not stand in the way of that.

Aragorn gave Elrohir a short bow of his head before stepping around the elf, a soft grip on his shoulder stopping him short. Aragorn blinked in surprise at Elrohir as the other tilted his own head in thanks before releasing him. A weak smile graced Aragorn's lips as he strode out of the library. Maybe thing would turn out for the best, after all. Maybe.

"I can see why father took to him so readily," Elrohir murmured as he watched Aragorn stride out of the library. "He has a peaceful aura." Turning his attention back down to his twin, Elrohir frowned. "Surely that is not comfortable."

Elladan flinched as strong, tauntingly familiar hands reached down and hauled him to his feet. He sighed in defeat when those same hands moved back, tilting his chin up, forcing him to meet ice, grey eyes. He did not want to be here. He did not want to see him. He did not want to hear him. This was not happening.

"Stop lying to yourself, Elladan," Elrohir bit out viciously as he grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him over to a table, forcing Elladan to sit in one of the chair, "You do us no favors. You are not to blame for what has come to pass, by heaping it all upon yourself you do us all a great dishonor."

"If I am not to blame," Elladan snarled, Elrohir's unexpected ferocity allowing his emotions an avenue of escape they would not have taken otherwise, "Then why did you leave?"

"Because if I had stayed I would have ended up killing you," Elrohir replied woodenly, scowling darkly as something occurred to him after those words had left his lips, "Do not take that literally, for you know I do not mean it as such. You know that which sustains me now, if I had remained with you I would have dragged you down with me."

Elladan shook his head, refusing to allow himself to heed his brother's words, "I do not understand."

"Yes, you do," Elrohir stated simply as he leaned forward and cupped Elladan's face in his hands, his ire fizzling out as his icy gaze bore into his twin's. "You do understand because I can see it in you. The Elrohir who was dwells within you." Bending over further, he rest his forehead against Elladan's and languidly closed his eyes, "You keep me safe."

Elladan swallowed thickly, his own hands reaching up to mirror his brother's. Yes, he did know. He knew it too well, for they had once before experienced such horror after their mother had been taken. Their rage, grief and fury had known no bounds, and through their bond they had dragged each other further and further into their own personal hell. It had only been through a miracle that they had emerged from it with their shared soul intact, tainted only by the torment of their own shame. If Elrohir had not barred their connection with that dampening glacier that even now glittered behind closed eyelids then they both would have fallen and neither would be here now. But even knowing that, it did not make it any easier to stomach.

"You hold our hope, Elladan," Elrohir whispered as he drew back, turned around and stepped out of reach, "I keep none for myself."

"Why did you come?" Elladan asked, unsure if he should break the silence that threatened to engulf them, but knowing that he did not wish it to fall into hushed emptiness between them.

"Thranduil asked me to deliver a message to father and Mithrandir," Elrohir explained readily, keeping his back turned to his brother, "And I felt it was time."

"But I know you did not intend to return," Elladan frowned, his confusion mounting, "You do not intend to stay, correct?"

"Well," Elrohir tilted his head to the side and reached up to rub his chin in mild amusement, "I had not, however, father has requested that I stay long enough for the upcoming council so that I may deliver Thranduil's message there."

"Odd... That's strange," Elladan blinked thoughtfully for a moment, then shook himself and glared suspiciously over at his twin, "That is not the only reason you are here."

"Nay," Elrohir drawled out, turning at last to face his brother, "That is not all."

"What is it?" Elladan asked apprehensively, the speculative look Elrohir was giving him making his skin crawl, "I'm not going to like what you're about to say, am I?"

"No, you will not," Elrohir answered vaguely and he strode purposefully over to stand before his brother again. Looking down, he faltered a moment, then began, "I have been told that Arwen has decided to sail."

"Aye, she has," Elladan agreed, frowning as pain and sorrow darkened his eyes.

Elrohir nodded resolutely, his face utterly blank as he spoke, "I wish for you to go with her. I want you to sail."

Elladan stared up at his twin in complete shock. It was as if the world, the very universe had stopped for him. He heard nothing. He felt nothing. He knew nothing. And then, it all came crashing back to him. Shaking his head in disbelief, Elladan stammered, "You cannot... you cannot ask that of me."

"I can and I will," Elrohir said stonily, an edge of pure steel apparent in his tone.

"But why? Why would you do this?" Elladan demanded, grief constricting his heart as his emotions raged and tears began to slip unchecked from his eyes. How could he? How could he do this to him?

"Because I have resigned myself to the fact that I will only truly return through the Halls of Mandos," Elrohir smiled gently as he kneeled before his twin, taking one of Elladan's hands within his own and brushing his lips across his brother's fingertips, "I would not see you die with me. That is why I wish for you to sail, so that you will await me in Valinor, free of the pain that I have visited upon you."

"I do not wish to leave," Elladan's voice cracked as he leaned forward, gathering his brother into a shuddering embrace, burying his face in Elrohir's dark, silken tresses.

"Neither did I," Elrohir murmured up into Elladan's neck, the ice forgotten for a single moment in the wake of their shared grief.

---

Yavieriel Tarandir: I'm very sorry, I don't mean them to seem like cliffhangers. They are all self-contained scenes, I really don't intend for them to bleed over into separate chapters. What happens in them can and will have bearings later on, but once the chapters end that scene is closed.

Luthien Seregon: It's okay. He really _is_ dead, I just have... more plans for that. -evil laugh-

Cindy: I'm actually rather fond of Boromir, so I don't think you need to worry about that. I do have other plans for him though, which may cause _him_ to want to kill me since said plans involve lots and lots of angst on his part.


	4. The Fellowship: The Council

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - The Council  
_by Meimi_**

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Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: This chapter actually turned out different from what I had planned. Not that I'm unhappy with it, it did turn out well all things considered (it was kicking my ass rather effectively... Boromir kept insisting on being snide and Gandalf wouldn't _shut up_). And it _is_ birthing another chapter to resolve some things that didn't happen which I had been planning for. But anyway, feel free to let me know what you think. I'm always open to commentary (criticism or otherwise).

Note #3: You know how I said that the movie canon and the book canon tended to come together into an unholy alliance in my head? Well, that is very true of this chapter. First it wanted to be movie canon, then it wanted to be book canon, and then both of them started fighting over it and here are the results.

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By the time the date of the Council of Elrond rolled around the entire valley of Rivendell was ripe for an explosion in some form or another, a fairly violent one if the tense atmosphere was read correctly. The dwarves had arrived a little over a week before and Erestor had been at his wits' end ever since in trying to keep them and the Galadhrim from killing each other. And then the men had arrived a few days later, which just made everything that much more perfect as far as disasters went. That, of course, made Erestor's temperament even _more_ fractious, if that could be believed, which in turn made Glorfindel's life a living hell. Anyone who knew the two friends at all, knew that Glorfindel was Erestor's favorite target, and vice versa, and the Chief Advisor gleefully vented his wrath upon the golden-haired Seneschal, who in turn exercised his own unique form of revenge upon the dour Noldor. Truly, between the two of them it was rather surprising that the halls of Imladris still stood _for_ the council to be held.

Alas, for Erestor and Glorfindel both on the warpath was not the sole source of Rivendell's woes, nor was it the continued strife and possibilities of conflict that smoldered between the dwarves and the Galadhrim. Nay, those troubles were made nicely unbearable by the valley's beloved Lord and the onset of unpredictable and ofttimes vicious mood swings. Very few had escaped his _company_ unscathed and that number was dwindling swiftly.

The presence of both the Lord's elven sons accentuated the unrest rather fittingly. Elladan avoided any and all contact with _anyone_ save his family, and to them he only gave a few fleeting moments of companionship before going off to hide again. And hide well he did, so well in fact that even Aragorn, much to his consternation, could not find the elf at times. This _new_ mode of conduct from his brother worried Aragorn greatly, for he had not managed to wrangle the reasoning behind the odd change of behavior out of Elladan as of yet.

Elrohir was both easier and yet even more difficult to deal with than his twin. The elf knight was calm and poised, polite to a fault and yet no one save Arwen could stand to be around him for more than an hour's length of time. A deep, heavy pall hung about the elf, one rife with a sense of grief and bitter sadness that drove off even the bravest of seekers. And beneath this lay a palpable threat of fierce, coiled fury constrained only by the lingering shade of someone who once was.

Truly, the One Ring was the least of their concerns.

Out of the entire Peredhil clan, it was only Arwen who was pleasant company to keep. Company which Aragorn sought after ceaselessly like a man dying of thirst in the desert. He clung to thoughts of their time spent together jealously, and eagerly vied for more. He was ecstatic that at least one member of his family, even if they _had_ just recently met, could still smile and laugh gaily and for it to be _real_.

Arwen was not all laughter and smiles, it was true. One who had chosen to sail for the Undying Lands could not wholly be content while they remained in Middle-earth, and there was a touch of sorrow that would steal into her eyes from time to time. But it did not rule her as it did the rest of the House of Elrond, and for that, if nothing else, Aragorn could not help but adore her.

It was Arwen's soothing and delightful companionship that Aragorn again sought out on the morning of the council, and it was within her presence that Aragorn still found himself when the clear bell announcing the time of gathering rang out. It was with a heavy heart and a sick, little knot of nervousness arising in his stomach that he bid her good day and headed off to what would most likely turn out to be one of the most trying experiences in his life.

A terrace well off the beaten path, and somewhat distant to the everyday life of Imladris, had been chosen for the meeting place. Ringed by arches, yet open to the sky, it was large enough to house all those who had been summoned to the Council of Elrond. The gardens around the terrace had been allowed to grow over and hid well the happenings within to any prying eyes from without.

All prying eyes save those borne by hobbits, Aragorn noted keenly as he strode towards the gathering. He considered for moment to inform those within of their little eavesdropper, but decided against it in the end. Some niggling premonition that he could not fully explain warned that the little gardner must _always_ be nearby where Frodo was concerned, and Aragorn did not feel that it was his place to ignore it. Besides, if there was anyone more trustworthy than Samwise Gamgee, he had yet to meet them.

The elves, were, as expected, already present. On a short dais the Lord of Rivendell sat regally. Elrond's countenance was stern, and decidedly sour if one knew him well enough. Aragorn smothered a shudder at that, his father was severely unhappy about something or other. Glorfindel was seated on Elrond's left side, looking as august and stately as Aragorn had ever seen him. His expression also looked somewhat sour to those who knew him well, but Aragorn chalked that up to the still form of Erestor standing off in a shadowed corner. He was surprised and mystified that the Chief Advisor did not join his fellow elves, but thought better of asking about it. By the looks of it, he'd get his head bit off for asking a _stupid question_. Flanking Elrond on his right side was Elrohir, dressed impeccably in robes befitting a elven lord's son, but still bearing those remarkable Mirkwood braids. Aragorn _did_ shudder minutely at the sight of his brother, the elf looked frighteningly benign, belying the ever present sensation of a crouched predator about to strike that fairly crackled about his lithe form. Of Elladan, there was no sign.

Aragorn gave his father a deferential bow of greeting and waited for the expected courteous nod of acknowledgment before seeking out his own seat. The day before he had arranged for an unadorned chair to be placed separate from all others, close enough to be noticed by far enough to drape him in shadows. This way he would only appear to be an unassuming observer, not an actual participant, and thus effectively allow him to gauge the responses and reactions of the other council members fully without garnering too much attention to himself.

At the exact opposite end of the terrace from the elves sat the dwarves. Rigid as the rock they knew so well, they glared at the valley's lord and his companions with blatant suspicion. Of them all, only the group's leader was known to the people of Rivendell, Gloin, son of Groin. Long ago in the early days of his youth, Aragorn had once met the dwarf, for Gloin had been a companion to Thorin Oakenshield in his ill fated attempt to wrest back the wealth of the Lonely Mountain from the fell wyrm, Smaug. Aragorn did not recognize any of the other dwarves, though he surmised that the youngest was perhaps Gimli, Gloin's son, whom he had heard of in passing but had never before met.

The men of the south arranged themselves between the elves and the dwarves on the right side of the terrace, gracing both races with equally curious and suspicious glances. Their leader, a blond warrior who appeared quite seasoned sat in the center of them, looking as if he were quite relaxed, though his shrewd, calculating gaze easily contradicted that. This, Aragorn knew without a doubt to be Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and a bit of a surprise.

Denethor's pride and condescension in regards to the other races, the elves in particular, was well known. In fact, his derision was not limited to the others, and was often known to be directed at his own race at times, and sometimes even at his own people. Aragorn had not expected him to send the son he coveted above all others, he had expected Denethor to send his youngest, Faramir, who was known to be the wiser of the two, but not favored by their father.

On the left side of the terrace sat Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, though he was more well known as Gandalf the Grey to the majority of those present. With him sat two hobbits, old Bilbo Baggins, who appeared as if he would nod off at any given moment, and Frodo Baggins, Bilbo's 'favorite nephew', who looked terribly, terribly uncomfortable to be there at all.

When all had settled, or at least as much as they ever could in each others presence, Elrond began, "I thank you all for coming upon such short notice, for the dark news that must be imparted here is grim indeed. I fear that if we had idled any longer the Enemy would have regrouped and caught us all unawares."

"No offense intended, Master Elf," Gloin broke in smoothly, his expression contrite. Lord Elrond was respected in one form or another by all who considered themselves _good_, even by the dwarves, despite the ancient elf's... _elvishness_. "But we truly came in search of Bilbo. We have heard of whispers in the dark, from foul things that have sought after our old friend and something insignificant that he was rumored to have carried with him when he left the Lonely Mountain." The good-natured smile that the old dwarf directed at Bilbo stifled any possible accusations that the others may have presumed to be present.

"Fear not, friend dwarf," Gandalf called out clearly as he gave Bilbo's shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze, "For it was not from the wealth of Erebor that that small, insignificant thing came." Gesturing Frodo towards the squat pillar that rose from the very center of the terrace, Gandalf smiled kindly and murmured, "Go on then, Frodo, show them the reason that they have been called here this day."

Gulping as his stomach did a queasy flip-flop, Frodo slid down off of his chair and tottered over towards the pillar on shaky knees. Glancing around uncertainly at all the curious stares directed his way, the little hobbit fished the chain, and the ring it bore, out from beneath his clothes. Hesitating for but a moment, he yanked the chain up over his head and resolutely dropped it and its burden atop the flat surface of the pillar. His duty done, Frodo slunk back over to his seat, scrambled back up into it and fervently hoped that he would not be asked upon to do anything else.

"It is a ring," Boromir stated plainly, his comment unhelpful, though he himself knew well the significance of such objects. Rings usually signified power, and in some cases _were_ power themselves. Gloin nodded simply, as if he had expected this all along, and perhaps he had.

"Aye, 'tis a ring," Elrond agreed, his countenance darkening as long, buried memories clawed their way to the forefront in his mind, "And not just any ring, for it is the Ring of Sauron, the One Ring, forged in darkness to rule over all. That which has come to be called Isildur's Bane, though most have forgotten just what that means."

A small smile passed quickly over the lord's mouth at the expected explosion. Voices raised in disbelief, others demanding a prompt explanation, rang out over the terrace and the empty gardens beyond. Yes, the sight chosen for the council had been well selected indeed, Elrond mused. He allowed them to go on for a few moments longer, better to get some of the tension out now than for it to come out later on, before quelling them all into silence with a stern, level gaze.

It was Boromir who found his voice again first and whispered, "Isildur's Bane, so it was true then." Noting the questioning looks his odd words amassed, his voice grew steadier as he explained, "My brother, Faramir, and I have been haunted by a reoccurring dream of late. I had hoped to speak alone with Lord Elrond about it, for his wisdom is well known, but I see now that its telling belongs to this council in whole."

A moment passed in silence as if he were gathering his thoughts, and then Boromir spoke, "It is always the same, in our dreams we stand high atop Minas Tirith, beside the Citadel of the White City. To the east, beyond the black mountains darkness creeps and a foul, crimson glow emerges. With it comes a warning to seek out the broken sword and the bane of its wielder. Then from the west, a soft white light rises and the tree blooms once more in Gondor."

"Tell us, Boromir," Gandalf asked cautiously once it became apparent that the man would continue no further, "What do you think that this dream mean?"

"Surely it foretold of my journey to Rivendell," Boromir murmured absently, "For just the night before my eyes beheld the Shards of Narsil enshrined here in the House of Elrond. I can only presume that evil will soon move against my homeland and that I am to obtain the aid needed to withstand it in these very halls." Shaking his head, Boromir raised his troubled gaze to Elrond's, "I plead with you, my lord, to allow me to carry the broken sword and Isildur's Bane back to Gondor when I return, for I fear we shall need them and what they represent in the coming days."

"Nay Boromir," Gandalf admonished before Elrond could respond, "Much more needs to be spoken of here and the fate of the One Ring has yet to be decided. And as for the Sword of Elendil," winking impishly, Gandalf looked surreptitiously over at Aragorn, "It is not the Lord Elrond's to give." Aragorn scowled darkly at the meddling wizard as the entire attention of the council was suddenly focused upon him.

Boromir studied the silent, dark haired stranger curiously for a but a moment, then prompted, "It is yours to give then?" Aragorn grimaced at that, but nodded hesitantly after a slight pause. "And who are you, stranger, that you would hold claim to the Shards of Narsil?"

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain," Gandalf explained blithely, earning him another heated glare from the man in question.

"Isildur's Heir," Boromir mused, not needing to be told anything further. Frowning, he raked suspicious eyes over Aragorn's shadow draped figure, "And you, who have not spoken for yourself, would you have me bow to you as if you were a king of old?"

"Nay," Aragorn sighed evenly as he leveled a stern gaze at the Golden Gondorian, "I would not take that which has not been given freely."

Boromir blinked in abject surprise at that, then nodded haltingly in tentative, if reluctant, understanding. If this _Aragorn_'s words were to be fully believed then it was quite possible that he did not wish to be king of Gondor, or even to be perceived as a king of anything. It was the wizard, after all, who had announced Aragorn's heritage to all present and not the actual man himself. Interesting. Perhaps... perhaps there might be something gained in making the acquaintance of this Dunedain from the North. If he could make an ally out of this man, who would not be king, then mayhap the Shards of Narsil _would_ find their way to the White City.

"What I would like to know," Gloin said, taking the lull created by Gandalf's little bombshell as a perfect opportunity to voice that which was bothering him, "Is how such a thing came to be in the possession of my old friend, Bilbo."

"That, my dear Gloin, is a rather convoluted story," Gandalf hummed as he scratched at his beard, "It is obvious that he gained it during your journey together, and he has informed me of how he truly obtained it, but I am not sure how to tell it."

"Oh, go on, you old coot," Bilbo muttered sleepily from where he had curled himself up in his chair, "You're like a child fair bursting at the seams to tell a juicy secret."

"Aye, I am," Gandalf chuckled heartily at that, but sobered quickly as he muddled over the dark things he must tell the others, "Long has the ring been lost to Middle-earth, so long in fact that many had thought it destroyed. But no, it was not truly lost, it was only hiding. Waiting."

"Waiting?" Gloin humphed, "You speak as if it has a mind of its own."

"Oh, it does, my friend. It does indeed," Gandalf replied, a hush falling over them all at his words, "It waited until such time as it chose to come into the possession of a halfling, one by the name of Smeagol. It drove him mad, twisting him into something foul and abominable and for five hundred years it kept him within its thrall."

"Gollum," Bilbo murmured, his eyes drooping drowsily.

"Yes, Gollum," Gandalf nodded in agreement, "And from Gollum's clutches did Bilbo wrest the ring, for it no longer desired to be coveted by the creature of its making. And through Bilbo the ring came to Frodo, and through Frodo it has come to my notice."

"That does not explain how those, those _things_ knew that Bilbo had it," Gloin growled in frustration, "And how is it possible this _Gollum_ has survived for so long? Halflings do not live for five hundred years."

"The long life of the creature is the work of the ring," Gandalf revealed reluctantly, waving his staff sternly at the others as he continued, "Do not be swayed by such knowledge, for longevity it may give even should you escape Sauron's forces, but it is still not life. If anything yet remains of Smeagol in the creature, Gollum, then it is a tortured existence that deserves only pity if nothing else. Nay, do not dare consider the possibility at all, for even I would be corrupted by such a thing."

Gandalf allowed for a pregnant pause before answering Gloin's other question, "As for how they have learned of Bilbo's taking of the ring, I am not sure, but I believe it is again through the creature, Gollum." He shot a questioning look over at Elrohir.

Nodding his acceptance, Elrohir finally began to impart the news he had brought with him from Mirkwood, "This creature was brought to the halls of King Thranduil by a ranger, and at the bidding of the Grey Pilgrim it was placed in the keeping of the elves," he smirked lightly at Gandalf as a hushed murmur passed through those assembled, "Alas, through foul means, all those who guarded the creature were slain and it was swiftly spirited beyond the borders of Mirkwood."

"What?" Gloin bellowed in indignation, "Have the elves of that wretched forest grown so weak as to lose such a simple prisoner?"

"It was not through easy means that the creature was taken," Elrohir scowled, the forbidding feel about him shifting, focusing upon the dwarf for the moment, "Never before have the spiders and the orcs worked together, all are prey to Ungoliant's spawn, and yet, in this they have done so."

"And did you not attempt to retrieve the creature?" Gloin continued on scornfully, uncaring of the danger he was so seemingly eager to court, "Could the great king not muster up enough of his precious elves to take it back by force?"

"Nay," Elrohir stated plainly, a humorless smile twisting at his lips, "For most of us have been campaigning in the south of late."

"The south?" Gloin grumbled warily. They all were familiar with the danger that lurked in that direction, for all who lived near to the cursed woods were well acquainted with the history of the black fortress found therein, "Of Mirkwood you say? And why have you been all the way down there?"

"Foul things have been seen moving within the walls of Dol Guldur," Elrohir's smile was not quite as humorless as it had been before, for now he felt a smidgeon of amusement at the horror inching its way over all present, "Dark things that have been heard to shriek their fury."

Gloin cursed viciously at that, "Nazgul! And did not your king feel the need to inform any others of this?"

Elrohir frowned mildly at the dwarf's presumption, "He is not my king. But that aside, Thranduil has seen no need to inform anyone save the Golden Woods of this. The aid of others is unnecessary, we have been more than able to keep the wraiths from amassing even the ghost of an army."

"Not your king?" Gloin muttered inquisitively, as he truly looked at the young elf for once, "And who are you to bear the braids of those blasted elves of Mirkwood and yet not be beholden to their king?"

"I am called Elrohir," Elrohir replied simply, a downright nasty grin gracing his features at the shocked utterances of 'Orc Bane' and 'What is _he_ doing here?' that emanated from the dwarves.

"My apologies," Gloin managed through gritted teeth, his face so scrunched up it appeared as if he had swallowed a lemon, "I did not know."

"Be that as it may," Gandalf said abruptly, hoping to stave off any further raising of hackles, "The fact remains, the Enemy now knows that Bilbo had the ring and has probably figured out by now that he has passed it on to Frodo."

"Then what shall we do about it?" Boromir asked bitterly. He was quite sure that the grey wizard probably already had a plan, but also quite sure that he, in particular, and those present would not care to hear it. "If you allowed it to be taken to Minas Tirith, I do not doubt that we could keep it safe, but I will not fool myself into thinking that you view that as a viable option."

"Nay, Boromir," Elrond declared wearily, a negligible frown marring his smooth countenance, "There is no place in Arda that the ring will truly be safe from those who seek it, even the protection afforded by Rivendell is only a temporary solution. The ring has become as much an extension of Sauron, himself, as it is his tool." The Elven Lord shook his head to emphasize his point, "No, the only recourse is its destruction."

"That shouldn't be too hard to do," Gimli muttered, hopping to his feet and resolutely gripping the haft of his axe as he sauntered over towards the pillar and that which it bore, "A well placed strike should rid us of this nuisance once and for all."

"Nay, friend Gimli," Gandalf contended, swiftly rising to his own feet and moving to halt the determined dwarf, "Spare you axe this, for it would shatter ere the ring did."

"Truly?" Gimli blinked up at the wizard in surprise, then turned appreciative eyes upon the small band of gold, "Remarkable craftsmanship then. But... if we cannot destroy it through normal means then how shall we be rid of it?"

"Only through the flames that bore it can the ring be undone," Elrond explained sternly, "It must be thrown into the molten core of Mount Doom."

"You cannot be serious," Boromir laughed scornfully, "Do you even understand what you propose? Even were you to get past the endless sea of orcs that dwell within Morder, there are other evils there, things that do not sleep." He gestured sharply as he expounded further, "And even the land will refuse you, for the mountains are unscalable, the marshes are pure deathtraps and the very air itself is a poisonous perfume. And if that were not enough there is still the Great Eye, for it misses nothing that passes through its lands. Even with an army of ten thousand men you could not do this."

"And yet, it must be done," Gandalf stated tonelessly.

"Truly, you are all insane," Boromir muttered disparagingly as he rose to his feet and walked over to join Gandalf and Gimli, "And what madman have you convinced to take this fool's errand? Tell us who," Boromir demanded as he crossed his arms and shot the wizard a contemptuous look, "Did you not say that none were safe from the corruption of the ring, not even yourself? If that is so, then what poor halfwit have you convinced to sacrifice themselves to your doomed cause?"

"I will take it," a little voiced piped up before Gandalf could respond. Frodo quailed a little as all eyes turned towards him, but continued on bravely, "I've carried it this far, bearing it a little longer won't make much of a difference in the long run."

"Frodo," Gandalf said kindly, "I don't think you quite understand the nature of this terrible task. The danger it courts is-"

"No. No, I do understand," Frodo interrupted, cutting off his dear old friend before the wizard could try and convince him otherwise, "But, you see, surely it must have come to us Baggins for a reason. And I couldn't rightly let anyone else take up such a heavy burden when it's our responsibility to see it done."

"Oh Frodo," Gandalf sighed helplessly as he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in complete consternation.

"How very convenient for you," Boromir muttered snidely, causing the grey wizard to wince even further.

Oh yes, this was going to turn out to be just lovely, Gandalf thought despondently.

---

Setrinan: Wow, thank you very much for the compliments. I was a little unsure about that scene. I _was_ sure about what I wanted to happen, but I wasn't sure if I had conveyed the emotional turmoil well enough.

Yavieriel Tarandir: -laughs- Well, I'm glad you're liking it then. I hope further chapters will hold your interest, because it's going to be a long ride.


	5. The Fellowship: Decisions

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - Decisions  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: This chapter wasn't actually planned at all and exists outside of the original story outline. However, I was hating on the last chapter so much that I decided to shuffle a few things around and ended up with two extra scenes that didn't really fit anywhere in particular. Thus, new chapter.

Note #3: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

The door to Elrond's study closed ominously behind its lord and the Istar the elf had beckoned within. Gandalf did not take this as a good sign, nor did he consider Elrond's ever so carefully schooled expression of serene calm to be very promising either. He could well see the cracks in it, and could only hope that after the resulting explosion he would still be able to draw breath. Surely the wise elf lord would deign to allow a wizard, his old _friend_ even, to retain some small, infinitesimal spark of life afterwards. Unfortunately, Elrond didn't look to be of the mind for mercy as he sat down behind his desk and glared openly at the Grey Pilgrim. _Oh dear_.

"What exactly did you think you were doing in there?" Elrond inquired silkily as he leaned forward, propped his elbows upon the desktop and laced his fingers together.

"What was necessary," Gandalf remarked stiffly and flopped down gracelessly into one of the chair in front of the desk.

"Really? And what exactly do you perceive as necessary?" Elrond asked further, his tone taking on a fine, but very evident, edge.

"We have been over this before, my friend," Gandalf said wearily as he sunk down low in his seat and stretched his legs out, "Aragorn's destiny was predetermined. I dare say, his life's task was perhaps chosen even long before his birth. The time has come for him to start coming to terms with it and himself. With the discovery of the ring, it truly is only a matter of time until events come to a head. The course is set, now we have but to ride out the whirlwind of fate."

"You sound so sure of yourself," Elrond murmured smoothly, the false calm he exuded setting off warning signals in Gandalf's mind, "As if you had already seen what will come to pass. And yet, you did not see Saruman's betrayal, nor did you know the true identity of that which Bilbo carried until the impending doom it represented was thrust upon you." Holding very, very still, Elrond stared inscrutably at his old friend, "You knew nothing of this, did you not?"

"Nay, I did not," Gandalf admitted with an obvious wince as Elrond's words briefly brought to mind remembrance of his recent captivity at the hands of his fellow Istar, "much to my chagrin."

"And yet you strongly contend to know of Aragorn's fate," Elrond said scornfully, his voice rising bit by bit as he continued, "You _contend_ to know of that which has yet to come to pass when you did not know, could not even fathom, of Saruman's faltering allegiance and the risk of the ring!"

Gandalf grimaced. Elrond was practically yelling at him now and he honestly couldn't think of what to say or do to calm the elf down. Oh well, might as well forge on ahead and hope for the best, or at least, hope that he survives this _discussion_. "Elrond, my good friend, it does not take the knowledge of the Valar to realize that Aragorn was meant for something specific. It is impossible to miss. I do not understand your reluctance now, you were more than supportive of Aragorn the first time he took off with Halbarad and the other rangers, and you have been supportive of his choices ever since."

"I _am_ supportive of his choices," Elrond explained, untangling his fingers and laying one hand atop the other as he leaned back in his chair, "as I am proud of him and the choices he makes. However, I will not support forcing him into something he does not wish. In case you hadn't noticed, he does not wish to be king of Gondor, or anywhere else for that matter. He is quite content in leading the roving Dunedain."

"Be that as it may," Gandalf waved his hand as if brushing away unseen cobwebs, perhaps wishing that he could do the same to Elrond's agitation, "Whether he wishes for it or not, it will come to him, one way or another."

"I will not allow him to be forced into something he holds no desire for," Elrond retorted hotly.

Gandalf narrowed his eyes in annoyance, feeling his own indignation bubbling up now, "You have very little say in this matter, Elrond Peredhil. What will be will be."

"I will not lose another son to this madness that infests Arda," Elrond shot back acidly, unswayed by the dangerous glint that shown clearly in the wizard's gaze.

"Ah, I see," Gandalf exclaimed, his ire instantly vanishing as he finally understand the well from which his friend's emotional distress was springing, "We come to the heart of the matter now. It is not Aragorn and his fate that makes you despair, though you well know that some day he will be lost to you."

"Aye, he is mortal and some day he will die," Elrond sighed, reaching up and rubbing his forehead in obvious mental exhaustion as he leaned over and propped himself up on one elbow, "But I would not see him live out his life in discontent, and I fear he would never be happy as king."

"But it is ultimately his choice, you cannot take that away from him," Gandalf murmured comfortingly, waiting for a slight nod of acknowledgment as his words were heeded at last before pressing on, "Now, my friend, tell me what has happened with your other sons that has upset you so greatly."

Elrond frowned and eyed Gandalf questioningly, as if he were unsure that he really wanted to impart such knowledge to the grey wizard. "You know that Arwen has decided to sail?" he began cautiously.

"Aye, truly a tragedy that such beauty will soon depart these shores," Gandalf remarked dolefully, "But none would have the heart to deny the Evenstar if her despair has grown so much that her only recourse left is to sail."

"Yes, I would see her well away from the grief that has come to encompass my family," Elrond said, his voice tinged with anguish and his shoulders hunching down as if a heavy burden had fallen upon them, "She will not be journeying alone."

"Ah," Gandalf nodded as if the news was not unexpectedly, "I cannot say that I am surprised. Will the twins follow her then?"

"No, it is only Elladan who will go with her," Elrond whispered brokenly, his misery shining brightly in the unshed tears that gathered in his eyes.

"I don't understand," Gandalf's brows furrowed together in consternation, "Why would he leave without Elrohir?"

"Because it is Elrohir who has asked it of him," Elrond replied helplessly.

"But why?" Gandalf asked again in utter bewilderment.

"Can you not guess?" Elrond asked forlornly in return, not waiting for a response from the wizard before explaining further, "He intends to die. _My son_, Elrohir, is planning to die and he does not wish for Elladan to perish with him."

"Ai Valar," Gandalf blurted out in shock as he wiped a shaking hand across his face, "I had not realized that it had gotten so bad."

"I do not know what to do," Elrond muttered hopelessly, his eyes darting around the room as if they would alight upon something, _anything_, that would solve this horrible situation, "It is as if _every_thing fell apart when Legolas died and nothing and no one has been able to fix it since."

"There there, my friend, do not despair so," Gandalf murmured soothingly as he rose to his feet and circled back around the desk.

"Do you have any idea how many times I have gone over it in my head?" Elrond continued, ignoring the grey wizard's attempts at comfort for the moment, "How I pondered over what I could have done differently that would have changed everything? Perhaps I should have allowed Elladan to go with them, wounded or no. But then, they may all have been taken instead and then there would have been none to know what had happened, none who would have been able to find them in time. Or perhaps I should have ordered them to remain in Imladris until such time as Elladan was fully healed. Mayhap it all could have been avoided instead."

"Nay, my friend, do not dwell upon such things," Gandalf said, his tone still soothing as he reached down and rubbed the elven lord's hunched shoulders comfortingly, "We cannot change the past and there is reason for all the things that happen, be they good or ill."

"I wish that Glorfindel were not the only exception to the rule," Elrond glanced up at Gandalf, his eyes showing a desolation of spirit that the wizard had not seen in one of the Firstborn in quite a long time, "If it were so, I would have him back, and I would have my sons whole again."

"Shh, Elrond, it is not within our power to change that which has been ordained by Iluvatar," Gandalf murmured softly, his hands never ceasing as he rubbed gently at the mournful lord's taut shoulders, "We can only accept it, however we may."

"What would you have me do?" Elrond asked sadly, his head drooping forward as long held tension melted away under Gandalf's tender ministrations, "For I no longer know what must be done."

"Concern yourself with the task of reforging the Sword of Elendil," Gandalf declared as he gave the elf a friendly pat on the back, "It is time. Whether Aragorn accepts it, and all that it represents, or not, it is well past time for it to be made anew."

"I suppose," Elrond mused, his thoughts turning from grief bit by bit as he pondered upon just how to go about that particular task. "And what will you be doing?"

"_I_ will busy myself with assembling a Fellowship of sorts out of those fools from the council," Gandalf bemoaned, the twinkle in his eyes belying the perceived despondency at such a task, "Frodo cannot do this task on his own and ever hope to succeed. No, he will need assistance."

"And you will see that he receives such assistance whether those chosen wish it or not, hmm?" Elrond inquired, an amused smile showing that at least some good cheer had been returned to him.

"Indeed," Gandalf harumphed as he stepped back, stretched to his full height and scratched absently at his beard, "And, the Valar willing, I will see what I can do about your sons."

"Many thanks, old friend," Elrond's smile again turned mournful, the grief of his family far too close to the surface to ever truly fade, as he confided, "For I fear I have come to the end of my tether, and all that stretches before me has fallen into darkness and sorrow."

"Know this, Elrond Peredhil, if there is a way to save your sons then we _will_ find it," Gandalf stated determinedly, his stony visage hinting that nothing less than success would be acceptable.

"If, Mithrandir, if," Elrond retorted, as if he were planning to argue the point, but he straightened up from his slouch nonetheless, "But you are right in one regard, I cannot allow myself to descend into grief prematurely. There is still much left to be done, and much of it that I must do myself."

Gandalf nodded silently in understanding, mournful that the elf would not accept even the smallest glimmer of hope that he offered, but not really expecting it to be accepted anyway. Elrond could be exceptionally stubborn and proud at times, more so even than other elves. Perhaps it was the combination of his human nature along with his elven nature. A likely explanation, for his children could be just as stubborn and proud, sometimes even more so if the situation warranted it. It was either that or just his natural ornery nature, which he had thus imparted to his children.

And here he was, Gandalf the Grey, one of the Istari, swearing that he would _fix_ them one way or another. Here's hoping that the Valar's grace was smiling down upon him, otherwise his life was going to be pure, unadulterated hell from this point on.

_By the Valar!_ What had he gotten himself into now?

---

Elrohir wended his way through the gardens, heading unerringly to his destination, the terrace where the Council of Elrond had been held just the day before. He had received a summons from Mithrandir asking for his presence there, and feeling some small amount of curiosity had set out for the designated location. He should be annoyed at this interruption, he had been in the middle of resupplying, for now that Thranduil's message had finally been delivered it was time for him to leave, but he was not. Instead he was curious as to what the Grey Pilgrim could possibly want with him. Whatever wisdom that could be gleaned from him personally, could just as easily be acquired from his father. Actually, it probably _would_ be easier for Mithrandir to speak to his father about whatever the wizard wanted, they were old friends, after all, and Elrohir just didn't like having to talk to anyone much anymore about anything. Conversation really wasn't much of a necessity when killing orcs, or anything else of evil's make that chanced to cross his path for that matter.

His steps slowed as Elrohir drew near to the terrace and then came to a complete halt as his ears registered the hushed sounds of conversation coming from within. Odd, it seems that he was not the only one to receive a summons from the Istar. Interesting. Just exactly whom else would the wizard need to speak with? And for what reason?

His curiosity truly piqued now, Elrohir strode forward, swiftly cresting the stairs leading up to the terrace and came to a halt once more. He blinked in mild wonder as he gazed out across the stone floor and those gathered within. It seemed as if Mithrandir had been quite busy this morn, quite busy indeed.

The young hobbit from the meeting yesterday, Frodo, was seated in one of the chairs which had been moved closer to the central pedestal. The little one looked quite dejected. Sitting next to him was another hobbit, a blonde, homespun looking fellow, who was trying his best to cheer up his companion. Across the floor from them, on the other side of the pedestal, stood the young dwarf, Gimli, with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning upon his axe while staring incredulously at the other occupants of the terrace. Well, to be fair, one of the other hobbits was standing next to the dwarf and rolling his eyes skyward every now and then and thus was not receiving the odd, stray look from Gimli.

The last of the quartet of hobbits, was standing next to Boromir and appeared to be trying to emulate the stern expressions of the Gondorian, Aragorn and Gandalf in turn. The halfling standing next to the dwarf hissed out "Pippin!" every now and again, trying to get the little one's attention, but was ignored by the hobbit, too caught up in amusing himself with the humans to heed anything else.

The Gondorian, the Dunedan and the Istar, meanwhile, were facing off against each other across the pedestal. Apparently they had been arguing over something or other about Dunland, the Pass of Rohan and Isengard before his arrival, if what he had heard on the way up was to be taken into account, but had come to an impasse. Elrohir did not doubt that they would start up again any second now, assuming, of course, that he did not interrupt them. He deliberated for moment on letting them go at it, for amusement's sake if nothing else, but decided against it in the end. He really didn't feel like waiting for them to finally discover that they're not going to agree on anything if they can help it.

"My my," Elrohir called out, effecting good cheer as he casually entered the terrace proper, "What's all this about?" He smothered a delighted little grin as the dwarf practically froze in place and eyed him apprehensively. It really was rather interesting at how a little tall tale about something so silly as the 'Orc Bane' could get around and mutate. After all, he didn't just slaughter orcs with impunity. If it was evil, it was fair game as far as Elrohir was concerned, orc or not.

"Ah, Elrohir! Good! You're here," Gandalf smiled sweetly and waved the elf over. Elrohir did not like the look of that, not at all. A happy seeming Mithrandir was usually a bad sign for _everyone's_ peace of mind. The Istar was up to something, something that he probably wasn't going to like.

Ignoring the appraising glances that Boromir was shooting his way _and_ the pleading looks of exquisite frustration that Aragorn was giving him, Elrohir cocked a doubtful eyebrow in Gandalf's direction and decided that he did not wish to beat around the bush, "I received word that you wished to speak with me and that I was to meet you here. What do you want?"

Gandalf puffed his cheeks out, taking umbrage at the elf's tone, "Here now, don't I deserve some respect from you young lords? Must you always be so distrustful of everything I do?"

"In a word, yes," Elrohir scoffed as he crossed his arms and glared openly at the wizard, "You forget, Mithrandir, I know you far too well. There is nothing this side of Aman that would make me trust your intentions, and probably nothing over there that would either. Now what do you want?"

"Brat," Gandalf muttered under his breath, earning an even sharper glare from the elf knight. Grumbling, he gestured freely at all those whom he had assembled there, "I am gathering together a Fellowship to aid Frodo in his quest to destroy the One Ring."

"Truly? All of you?" Elrohir waited quietly as he was answered with agreeing nods and an "Aye." here and there before turning a questioning gaze to Boromir, "I thought the Steward's son did not approve of this course of action."

"I don't," Boromir admitted as he reached up and raked a hand through his hair, "But if it is to be done, then Gondor will see that it is done."

"Remarkable fortitude on your part," Elrohir quirked his lips at Boromir's look of stunned surprise before returning his attention to the wizard, "That doesn't explain what you want from me, though. So what is it?"

"Well, you see, there's this thing," Gandalf dithered, grimacing as he scratched at his beard in indecision. He wasn't really sure how to ask for Elrohir's assistance, and knew that no matter how he did it he would get one of those _looks_ the Peredhils were so good at. That 'What, are you stupid?' look that Elrond had mastered so well and had passed on to his children. Well, no, the mastery of it wasn't just limited to Elrond and his brood, Galadriel and Celeborn could both pull off a rather scathing version of it, as well. There was just something about that whole family.

"Really, Mithrandir, get to the point. I may have the time to waste on your lack of skill where conversations are concerned, but I doubt your companions can wait that long," Elrohir frowned, his displeasure evident as he shifted his weight a bit. He really needed to get back to resupplying, he needed to be gone soon, very soon. "What is it that you want? Information? Perhaps about Rohan? I have been there fairly frequently in the last half century or so, a fact that I am sure you are well aware of."

"No, it is not that, though I am sure that such knowledge will be quite useful later on," Gandalf refuted gingerly, giving his beard another nervous scratch before forging on ahead, "Elrohir, I would like for you to _join_ the Fellowship."

"You cannot be serious!" Gimli burst out, the dwarf having shook off the disbelieving shock at Gandalf's _little_ announcement before the others could manage to do so.

"Oh, I am quite serious," Gandalf stated resolutely as he turned a stony gaze on the dwarf, hoping that he wasn't signing his death sentence by taking his eyes off of the elf, who, thankfully, still appeared to be frozen in shocked surprise. "The Fellowship has need of an elf, and he is the best candidate available."

"You cannot expect him to give his allegiance to this Fellowship of yours," Gimli countered heatedly, his disbelief still coloring his tone, "Everyone knows that the Orc Bane only cares about killing orcs. You cannot expect him to give one whit about a venture that will be doing its best to avoid any and all contact with said creatures."

"Well, there you have it," Elrohir broke in smoothly before Gandalf could argue his point with the dwarf, having at last recovered from his own shock. Smiling sickly as he did his best to ignore the urge to throttle the wizard, even though the Istar was _really_ asking for it, Elrohir gestured pointedly at Gimli, "From the mouths of dwarves no less. Now is there anything else you want or can I go now?"

"There once was someone I would have very much preferred to ask this of. Someone who would have been quite eager to offer his bow to such a task," Gandalf said gravely, throwing his caution to the wind and praying that the Valar would continue to grace him with their protection. He did not doubt that he was going to need it at some point in the near future. "Unfortunately, his fate has long since passed and I can no longer ask anything of him. That leaves you."

"Tread carefully, wizard," Elrohir growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously in thinly veiled fury, "There are some trespasses you will not be forgiven for."

"We - need - you," Gandalf bit out, trying and somehow succeeding at looking as stern and fearsome in his old, grey robes and battered, blue hat as he possibly could. Which wasn't much as far as the furious elf, at least, was concerned, but it was the thought that counts. "The scouting abilities of the elves, and you in particular, are without peer. We will need that. Even now the Enemy searches ceaselessly for the ring, we will need every advantage that we can get if this quest is to succeed."

Elrohir sighed wearily as he tuned the Istar out. Closing his eyes, he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did not want to be here. He did not want to be listening to Mithrandir's entreaties. He wanted to be on his way back to Mirkwood. He wanted, no, _needed_ to be killing things. Evil things. Orcs, spiders, whatever, as long as it was evil he wanted to kill it. He wanted to be anywhere but here, and he certainly didn't even want to consider thinking about agreeing to Mithrandir's proposal, if only to shut the wizard up if nothing else. Unfortunately, he was.

Well, it _was_ the One Ring. Maybe if he was lucky he'd get to kill a Nazgul.

"Very well!" Elrohir ground out, cutting Gandalf off in mid-plead, "I will go with you as far as I may. Do not ask anything further of me."

"See?" Gandalf beamed cheerfully as he stepped forward and patted Elrohir jovially on the shoulder, "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Elrohir just gave the wizard an altered version of the 'What, are you stupid?' look, this alteration being the 'What, are you crazy?' variant. One that Gandalf was more than familiar with after all this time, then again, he was quite familiar with all of those looks.

"Do not despair, Elrohir," Gandalf whispered softly in elvish, knowing that Aragorn was probably the only one present who could understand his words, but keeping his voice down nonetheless, "You will find some measure of peace upon this journey. That I swear to you."

"Do not offer hope where it is no longer welcome," Elrohir retorted back in elvish, keeping his tone just as soft, if only as an after thought. Estel _was_ there, after all, even if, strangely enough, he had not spoken up this whole time. The elf did not want to upset his little brother any further than necessary. As it was, he was probably going to have to have a little talk with Estel, sooner or later. Doubtless, the wizard's meddling would surely see to that.

He really ought to give some serious consideration to killing the Grey Pilgrim one of these days.

---

Setrinan: I'm glad it turned out well then. That chapter took a bit more editting than usual to make it not sound stupid. As it is, I still want to kill Gandalf and Boromir for being so difficult.


	6. The Fellowship: Nightfall

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - Nightfall  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: This chapter turned out a little different than I had planned. Arwen apparently dislikes exposition as much as I do. Thanks to that, the next chapter is going to be a bit longer than I had originally planned. It's going to have at least four scenes in it, so it may take a little longer for me to get it out. -sighs- I hate delays.

Note #3: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

Night in Imladris was much the same as it was in any of the lands of Arda. When the sky was clear the stars shown down brilliantly as they did elsewhere. Though perhaps, if one were well traveled and feeling poetic, then it could be said that Earendil seemed to glimmer just that much brighter upon the realm of his remaining son, Elrond. However, Imladris was an elven realm and wasn't quite just the same as everywhere else. Those who found shelter within the valley's borders could be assured of a sense of peace not found anywhere else in Middle-earth save Lothlorien. And unlike the Golden Woods, whose mystical beauty at times seemed to separate it from the lands that it dwelt within, Imladris, _Rivendell_, still retained an earthy sense of belonging to the world, to Middle- earth.

Arwen had never really realized just how much she had come to miss her home. She had not realized how empty a forest could sound without the distant roar of the waterfalls overlying the gentle creaking of the trees. Nor had she realized how much she had missed the babble of the Bruinen as the wind fell down from the mountains and rippled across the river's cascades. The peace that had sustained her in Lorien had been well needed, but it had not been the peace of home, the peace she had craved unknowingly, but even that was lost to her now.

Imladris was the place of her birth, where she had grown from a little sprite of an elfling and had learned to love the world that surrounded her. But the valley was no longer home. Too much had been lost, too much pain had come to dwell within her home for it to remain so. Too much was gone, and soon, even that which remained would depart. The remnants of her family would leave soon, she among them, and never return. And those who chose to remain behind out of loyalty to the land would depart across the sea ere the passing of another age. The elves were leaving Middle-earth bit by bit, eventually nothing would be left of her kind save the memories retained by the land. Perhaps that was for the best though, too many of those memories were now wrapped in a heavy shroud of grief, 'twas best for them to go before they inflicted more of their unending sorrow upon Middle-earth.

Sighing quietly at her own melancholy thoughts, Arwen kneaded at her shoulders, as if she were warding off a nonexistent chill, and headed towards her favorite glade for stargazing, the one with the narrow bridge that arched over the pond. She knew well that is a was a favorite for romantic rendezvous, but she also knew that she would not be disturbed. The others well knew their lady's nightly walks through _that_ particular area and kept well away when it was known that she was out amongst the trees.

Arwen smiled gently in silent thanks to their thoughtful consideration. She well needed peace this night, for the coming days would be beyond trying. In just a handful of days she would have to say goodbye for the last time to a brother who had in all truth departed long ago. And then she would have to watch her other brother tear himself apart even more because of it, for she had her doubts that the Undying Lands could heal such a singularly unique wound that both of the twins bore. She was not naive, she knew well that such a sickness would be shared between them, a wound borne by a soul already halved would harm them both. Such a wound would fester even if one half were to be granted some manner of peace, for both of them would need care if actual healing were to be obtained. No, she had no illusions as to the fate of her elder brothers if things remained as they were. They would both be lost, Valinor's grace willing or not.

And yet, there was nothing evident that could be done to change the course they had taken. She had spent enough time with Elrohir to understand that he wasn't really there anymore, at least, not the person he had once been. There were little things, of course, small things, mere wisps of a ghost who was than the ghost itself. A gesture here, a tilt of the chin there, just little things. They were there for only the blink of the eye, and then they were gone, lost again, as if they had never been. It was heartbreaking to watch, maddening even, but she could not make herself stop. She could not make herself leave him be. If she did that, then that would be the end of it, and her big brother, Elrohir, would only exist in her memories. That time of parting was swift approaching, where only memories would remain, she knew this, but it would have to come of its own accord. She would not rush it.

There was still time.

Arwen shook her head and reached up to brush back a few stray strands of ink black hair that had come loose. No, she would not think of that right now. Closing her eyes, she allowed the night, and all it afforded, to wash over her and rid of her of such sorrow and grief, if only for the moment. The trees were singing, their melody soothing and compassionate. She did not know of what they sang or why, for she was not a wood-elf, but even a Noldor could hear the wordless whispers, could feel the essence of the trees' song.

But no, Arwen frowned, her brows furrowing slightly, the trees were not singing as they usually did. They were singing at someone in particular. If there had been a Silvan present in Imladris, then she knew it would be they for whom the trees sang, but there were none within the valley. There was someone _else_ in Rivendell, however, who was not a wood-elf, and yet, ever since his arrival the trees seemed overly eager to turn their attention in his direction.

Elrohir.

By the intensity of their song, that meant that her brother was nearby and since she was drawing close to her favorite glade, then it was quite likely she would find him there. Arwen wondered briefly at the relevance of such an occasion, for she knew he had not parted from the halls much since his arrival. What was it about this night that made it different from any other night?

There was little time left to ponder upon the subject, Arwen soon discovered as she threaded her way through the last copse of trees shielding the glade from view. Elrohir _was_ there, standing in the very center of the bridge, his back turned and his head tilted ever so slightly, as if he were listening to something that she could not hear. And perhaps he was.

"Do you know what they say now?" Arwen asked curiously as she stepped out onto the bridge, frowning when she noted him stiffen minutely at her words. "They don't just sing _at_ you, they sing _to_ you, don't they?"

"They do," Elrohir answered her hesitantly, tilting his head further to the side so that he could glance back at his sister, "But I do not know exactly of what they sing. I cannot make out the words, but I do sense the emotions that they wish to convey."

"And what would that be?" Arwen whispered quietly and reached out to run her fingers comfortingly down her brother's back, her shoulders drooping in defeat when he shied away from her touch. It had not always been so, once he would have welcomed such comfort from her, would have welcomed it from their brother and their father also, but that was long ago, in another life.

"Grief." Elrohir shook his head, as if arguing with himself over something she could not even fathom to guess at, then turned at last to face her. "It is only grief now. In the beginning..." He hesitated again, trepidation flitting across his face as if he were unsure of what he was going to say, but he continued nonetheless, "In the beginning, they were so angry and so very worried. You see, I was dying when Elladan found... us, Arwen, make no mistake about that. I doubt very much that I would have made it back here were it not for the trees."

"I don't... understand," Arwen stammered, unsure of herself now that he had unexpectedly thrust such knowledge upon her. It should be Elladan or their father that he spoke to of such things, not her. She did not know what to say or even do.

"It is the trees, Arwen. You did ask about them," Elrohir smiled lightly, taking pity upon his flustered little sister. He did not know why he was telling her this, for he had never truly spoken of it to anyone else, but it felt right and at least he was assured that she would listen, "I don't know when it started, and in the beginning I wasn't really aware of what was going on. But I do know this, I was only semi-aware and slipping in and out of consciousness when Elladan dragged me out of that cave. I could not see the light of day nor could I smell the shift in the air. But I could feel the trees, could feel their presence. I cannot tell you how much of a difference that made."

"I still don't understand," Arwen shook her head in abject confusion, "How is that possible? You are not a wood-elf."

"Therein lies your answer, Arwen," Elrohir turned his gaze up to the stars, his face settling into familiar blankness. "I am not close kin to the trees, but _he_ was, thus I place the blame solely at his feet. I know that he was speaking to them when we were attacked and I can only surmise that he communicated something along the lines of protecting me before we were lost to the darkness, so I am quite certain that I can thank him for their continued interest in my wellbeing."

"I suppose I should be surprised, but I can't seem to be considering the who of it," Arwen murmured as she moved to stand next to him. After a moment spent studying him, she leaned her head companionably against his shoulder and smiled joyfully when _this time_ he did not draw apart from her, "It would be just like him."

"No, it is not much of a surprise at all," Elrohir agreed as he raked his gaze across the night sky, searching for the elusive glimmer that he still had yet to find in over three hundred years. One of them had to be _his_, but none, not even the most avid astronomers, could ever say whether a new star had come to glitter in the heavens that fateful night or not, and so it was lost to them. But it had to be up there somewhere, and one day he would find it. Elrohir would not fail in that.

---

"My lady?"

Arwen started violently and cursed herself mentally for getting so caught up in stargazing, or star searching to be more precise, that someone had caught her, an _elf _, unawares. Elrohir had left her not more than half an hour ago, but she had not wished to retire yet that night and so had remained. There was a star in the heavens that she had wanted to find, one that she well knew her brother still searched fruitlessly for, and she had wanted to try and find it for him. It was there. _He_ was there. But it eluded all searchers still. If only it could be found, then perhaps her brother could find some small amount of contentment. Perhaps they all could.

Turning towards the one who had called out to her, Arwen started again, though only slightly. Estel. Oh my, this _was_ embarrassing. Not only had she allowed someone to sneak up on her, she had allowed her _human_ brother to sneak up on her. In the past, if this had occurred, the twins would have teased her endlessly over it. Now, they'd probably just tsk at her about it, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing.

Smoothing down the fabric of her dress self-consciously, Arwen studied her little brother for a moment before answering his call. He looked rather... haggard, as if something quite distressing were weighing down upon his mind. Perhaps a little teasing was in order to cheer him up. "Really, Estel," she admonished, smiling sweetly, "We have been over this before. It is just Arwen, not 'my lady' or any other title you feel the need to bestow upon me."

"Ah, my apologies, Arwen, I didn't realize," Aragorn replied, looking only mildly abashed, and glanced around the clearing as if he were searching for someone.

Arwen frowned at his reaction, he'd never been this out of sorts before in her presence. Something must truly be troubling him. "Is there something wrong, Estel?"

"You could say that, my la-, _Arwen_," Aragorn muttered somewhat sourly as it became obvious to him that the two of them were the only ones present, "Have you seen Elladan lately? I really need to speak with him about something but I can't _find_ him anywhere. He's done another one of his disappearing acts."

"Ah," Arwen nodded sadly in understanding. Her eldest brother had been avoiding all of them of late. It distressed her that he would not seek her out, but she could not blame him for wanting solitude. The tragic lack of choice that he had been burdened with must truly be excruciating. She did not blame him at all for not wanting to share such pain. "I'm afraid I have not seen him at all today."

Aragorn hissed through his teeth in annoyance. This was getting ridiculous. Bowing slightly, he prepared to take his leave of the Evenstar so that he could continue his search, "My thanks all the same, Arwen. I shall simply have to search elsewhere."

"Hold, Estel," Arwen called, stretching out her hand towards him as if she could catch him before he spirited himself away, "Perhaps I can help you in our brother's stead."

"Nay," Aragorn shook his head. He _had_ to speak with Elladan about what he had heard earlier in passing. "I do not think so, Arwen. I fear he is the only one who can confirm my suspicions."

"Ah, I see," Arwen murmured as she lowered her hand in a vague sense of defeat, "You have heard then."

"You know?" Aragorn's eyes widened in shock and then it was as if something crumpled within him, so forlorn was his expression, "It's true then."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Arwen smiled apologetically. This should not have been the way that Estel learned of such knowledge, but there was no changing the past. Not now, or ever. "When I depart to pass beyond these shores, Elladan will be going with me."

"But why?" Aragorn shook his head in disbelief, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions, "I don't understand. Why? Why have I heard nothing about this before?"

"Forgive him, it is a very difficult path that he must take now," Arwen looked at Aragorn mournfully before turning her gaze back up towards the stars, "He does not wish to leave, yet it is the only choice left to him. If he stays, he will die."

"What!" Aragorn stared at her aghast. Elladan would die if he did not take ship? By the Valar, what was going on?

Arwen glanced back at him, an eyebrow cocked curiously. "It is Elrohir's design. He is growing weary, I think, and none believe that he will continue to cling to life much longer. He does not expect to either. Elrohir has told Elladan to sail, so that he will not drag our brother down into death with him. I do have my doubts that the Undying Lands will prevent that though."

"I don't... understand," Aragorn shook his head again, this time more in shocked confusion than disbelief. This didn't make any sense. Elrohir was expecting, perhaps even wanted, to die? He couldn't say that that little revelation surprised him. In fact, he'd be more surprised if it were the other way around. It could not be said that their brother really _lived_ anymore. But Elladan dying too? Elladan seemed to be in perfect health, not that elves were ever really _not_ in perfect health. So why would he die?

"Have you been told nothing of elven twins?" Arwen asked, her brows furrowing vaguely at Aragorn's lack of understanding. Did he truly not know?

"It... never really came up," Aragorn grimaced at her question. That she felt the need to ask him that, and by her very expression, told him quite a lot. He _was_ missing something here, some little tidbit of information, that would make everything fall into place. What was it? "I did not even know that Elladan _had_ a twin until recently."

"I see," Arwen nodded sadly, "We have done you a great disservice then, for it is supremely important where the fate of my brothers is concerned."

Shaking herself just a bit, Arwen pondered quickly over how best to impart the necessary knowledge, "I do not know if it is the same with twins born to men or dwarves, or even the little hobbits, but I do not think so. In elven twins there is but one soul, one spirit, shared between them. They are halved in ways that none but they can truly fathom."

"How is that possible?" Aragorn wondered, trying his best to not boggle at what seemed an impossibility. How could life exist when the soul maintaining it was in two separate pieces?

"Only the Valar know, Estel," Arwen laughed lightly, "But it is so, and it is very true for our brothers. Before... before it was always apparent. They were different, but never so different to be considered separate from the other. It is how others can be of two minds about something or other. For them, they truly were. But said differences were never enough to drown out the similarities. They could be of one mind, literally, if they wished it. And several times they were."

"I still don't understand," Aragorn repeated hesitantly, "They seem as different as night and day to me."

"That is because they are now," Arwen explained mournfully, "Something happened to Elrohir in the past, something that broke him. To protect Elladan from succumbing to the same doom, Elrohir blocked the bond between them. He froze our brother out."

"Something happened?" Aragorn muttered, recalling now memories of the first time he had seen the younger twin, "Did this something happen to occur three hundred and forty-six years ago?"

Arwen blinked in surprise. How did he know that? "Of a sorts. Though honestly, I think it originated over five hundred years past. I think what happened three centuries ago was just the final nail in the proverbial coffin."

"Will you tell me what happened?" Aragorn pleaded, wanting desperately to know what had shattered his family so.

"Five hundred years ago," Arwen began, tears already shining in her eyes at the painful memories she spoke of, "My mother, Celebrian, the Lady of Imladris, was captured and tortured by orcs. It was Elladan and Elrohir who rescued her, but none could truly be said to have saved her. Her physical hurts were mended, after a time, but the soul deep wounds could not be healed, not even by father. It came down to a choice, she could either sail for the Undying Lands and the healing she could only receive there or she would fade and die. Thankfully, all of us managed to convince her to go."

"I did not know," Aragorn murmured as he hung his head, feeling some shame at not having known. He should have asked, but he had never known how to do so. And perhaps it was for the best that he had not, his innocent curiosity most likely would have only caused more pain.

"Do not feel bad about it, Estel," Arwen smiled tremulously at him in encouragement and absently wiped at her eyes with the tail end of a sleeve. "It is not something we wish to dwell upon. And besides, I will see her again soon."

"Yes, I suppose you will," Aragorn said sadly. He was absolutely sure that when Arwen passed across the sea, his life would be made that much lesser, for she would take so much joy along with her. Already, he felt bereft.

"Elladan and Elrohir blamed themselves for what happened to mother," Arwen continued after a few moments spent drying her eyes, "It was not their fault, but they would not listen and for the longest time all that mattered to them was killing orcs."

"That sounds familiar," Aragorn muttered darkly. Oh yes, quite familiar indeed.

"It is," Arwen laughed bitterly, "And in it you can see the foundation for our present tragedy. They did recover their senses, but it took some time and even more grief on father's part. We all thought they would be consumed by their bloodlust, but eventually they did come back to us."

Aragorn nodded. That he could understand. He probably would have been just as bad had it happened to him. "But that changed?" he prompted.

"Yes," Arwen agreed hesitantly, growing unsure of herself now. Should she really tell her little brother about what had happened or should she let it lie? But no, she could not stop now. He deserved to know. "Three hundred and forty-six years ago, the past repeated itself. Elrohir and a very dear friend were captured by orcs while they were making their way to Mirkwood. Elladan managed to find them thanks to the bond he shares with Elrohir, but he was not in time. Elrohir was the only one still alive, and only in the barest of sense."

"I see," Aragorn murmured after a moment of silence stretched awkwardly between them, "That does explain a very many things."

"Once he was healed, Elrohir parted from Imladris. He left Elladan and father... and me," Arwen swallowed thickly, "He has never been home before now, and you and I both know that he will not stay long, nor will he return when he does leave. He may travel with you and Mithrandir's Fellowship, he may even survive it, but he will not return. Never again."

"Yes, I do understand that much," Aragorn stated simply. He _did_ understand, he could even see how he might have chosen such a path at one time or another. It didn't make it any easier to live with, but he could understand it, at least. "But that doesn't-"

"Tell you why Elladan will sail?" Arwen finished the question for him, her eyes lighting for a single moment with affection. It faded quickly, however, as she answered, "Elladan and Elrohir share a deep bond. If... _when_ Elrohir dies, Elladan will feel it. Elrohir will not be able to block his death from our brother, and Elladan will not block it himself. He would experience everything."

"And it would kill him," Aragorn spoke the last for her when it became apparent that Arwen could not force herself to do so. He sighed heavily at Arwen's shaky nod of agreement. He was going to lose his brother one way or another it seemed, and there was nothing he could do about it. It rankled, this grim knowledge and his inability to do anything for it. He almost wished he didn't know, but no, it was better this way. As long as he knew he could avoid hurting his family inadvertently, even though... it hurt too much to think about it.

Something occurred to him then, right before he slid any further into his dark, depressing thoughts of what was to come. "You don't think sailing will save Elladan, do you?"

"No, I don't," Arwen answered quickly, too quickly. It was very obvious that she was upset, perhaps she felt just as helpless as he did. "Elladan and Elrohir are too close. Even now, when they are more separate than ever, they are still too close. It is not like father and Elros. Neither of my brothers have made a choice that would change them enough for the other to survive their loss, nor will they. They are elves at heart, Estel, and they are determined to die as elves."

---

Ringmarciel: Thank you for the compliment. I'm not really trying to be different, I just have a tenacious and very specific plot bunny hopping around in my head.


	7. The Fellowship: Confrontations

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - Confrontations  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: I really must apologize for the lateness of this update. Some rather unpleasant real life events reared their ugly heads recently and kept me rather busy. On the other hand, thanks to the vast amounts of time that I could not get to my computer a few more scenes cropped up. Thus, this chapter is another one that was totally unplanned.

Note #3: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

There was nothing really special about the door. It was a rather simple door, constructed of sturdy oak wood and treated with a dark stain that gave it an almost blue-ish sheen under the soft illumination of elven glow. Though, perhaps 'simple' was a misnomer, for no door carved in such detail could be considered simple. Flowering vines wended their across the door, curving delicately above and then into the very surface of the door, such intricate carvings were a craftsman's delight. And, of course, it would be flowers. Had it not been flowers then it would have been trees, the elves were terribly predictable in that regard. Truly, it was a magnificent door, and the most threatening door that Gandalf, the Grey Wizard, had ever had the, alas, distinct _pleasure_ -or should that be _dis_ pleasure- of having to find himself facing yet again. For this was no ordinary door, nay, not in the least. _This_ particular door had the dubious honor of the being the door to Elrond's study. Elrond Peredhil -Half Elven-, Lord of Imladris -otherwise known far and wide as Rivendell-, bearer of one of the three elven rings of power, Vilya -and if any other soul chanced upon _that_ knowledge then the elves would certainly know which pipe- smoking wizard to blame-, and most frightening of all, Elrond, the very disgruntled father.

Gandalf, Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, one of the Maiar and also a member of the Istari, a _wizard_, did not want to knock on that door. No, he did _not_. If he knocked upon that door then he would have to enter Elrond's study, the proverbial lion's den, or perhaps dragon's lair was a more astute description. Nay, he did not want to do that. He knew what was waiting for him in there. He _knew_ that Elrond was not in the least bit pleased with him thanks to the 'Fellowship', and a very specific member of it in particular. If he dared to step within the confines of Elrond's study he knew well what his fate would be. Really, if he had wanted to experience the _joy_ of being flayed up one side and down the other he would have imposed himself upon Saruman's generous hospitality a bit longer.

Unfortunately, he was going to have to enter that study at some point. There was no way he'd be able to escape Imladris without bringing Elrond's wrath further down upon his head. And he couldn't just abandon poor Frodo no matter how fearsome the Elven Lord could be at times. He must be brave, his little hobbit friend needed his support. He could do this. He _could_. He just hoped that he could survive the storm he was about to invoke.

Grimacing at the unpleasantness that lay before him, Gandalf gingerly lifted his hand and prepared to knock upon the unassuming, yet very threatening, door. _Buck up, you old fool, you're a wizard, you can deal with one single irate Elven Lord. You've done it before. You can do it again._ Gandalf admonished himself even as he hesitated.

"Don't bother." The wizard started violently at the words wafting menacingly from within. "I know you're out there." Oh dear, that didn't sound very promising, not in the least. "You can come in now." Ah yes, even at the height of his worst bouts of temper, Elrond _did_ have a bit of a smug streak.

Steeling himself, Gandalf sighed inaudibly, reached for the latch and pushed the _evil_ door open. Between now and the departure of the Fellowship, he ought to come up with some blessing -or _curse_- or other to put on said door. If he did that then maybe, just maybe, Elrond would be in a better mood whenever they had to _discuss_ such matters in the future. Anything would be an improvement.

The Elf Lord did not pay the wizard any heed as he entered the austere room, in fact, it didn't appear as if Elrond was paying one whit of attention to him. Gandalf knew better, of course, but it was still a little disconcerting. He had been expecting to be speared with the evil eye -accompanied by the evil eyebrow- the instant he poked his head through the door. No, the elf's somber attention was instead focused upon something laying across the desk, something... made of metal... _polished_ metal. A sword.

_Narsil_.

But no, it could no longer be called Narsil. The reforging of a blade with such grave historical relevance practically demanded that a new name, a new title, be given to it. Gandalf wondered briefly what name Elrond had decided upon, or perhaps 'would decide' was the better term to use. In all likely hood, the Elf Lord may yet still be pondering upon a new name for the sword. Its history had become something of his own, after all; and the task couldn't be easy for him either, much less pleasant. Memories could be such a painful burden upon the soul in such times as these.

_Ah well. What's done is done._ Giving himself a little shake, Gandalf plastered the most jovial grin he could muster upon his face and flopped down in one of the chairs facing the desk. "Well, that's one less thing I have to worry about," he said cheerfully as he gestured towards the sword.

"Indeed," Elrond replied flatly as he finally deigned to look up at the wizard in what could easily be described as one of the blandest expression he had borne to date. Oh no, he was not pleased with the Istar, not in the least.

_Uh oh_. Gandalf gulped, his grin taking on a sickly tinge, as he scrambled for something, _anything_, to say to diffuse the oncoming explosion. "From even the barest of glances one can easily see that it is truly a job well done, and in such a timely manner as well. You didn't procure the aid of the dwarves, did you?"

"Of course not," Elrond retorted, looking highly insulted at the perceived insinuation. "Just because it was originally forged by a dwarf was no reason that elves could not see to its restoration."

"Really?" Gandalf muttered suspiciously as he reached up and scratched at his beard, "Then how exactly did you go about performing such a daunting task _and_ achieve success in such a short amount of time? Even _I_ would have had trouble doing so."

"The explanation is simple enough," Elrond waved his hand airily as he leaned back in his chair, "I asked Elladan to see to the sword's reforging."

"Truly?" His eyes widening slightly in surprise at that little announcement, Gandalf continued to scratch idlely at his beard. "I did not think that you had ever approved of that little past time of theirs."

"Don't be ridiculous," Elrond scoffed, "I approve of all of their hobbies, constructive or not." His lips twisted slightly and his gaze slid heavenward as he pondered upon that for a moment, then offered a small addendum to his statement, "As long as they break no laws nor harm any who do not deserve it."

Gandalf laughed outright at that. "Are you sure about that? It leaves them quite a lot of room to cover and a bevy of ways to get into all sorts of trouble, especially where mischief is concerned."

"Hmmph," Elrond scowled, his expression turning decidedly sour as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I would have asked Elrohir to aid his brother in this endeavor, however, you've been keeping him rather _busy_ of late."

"Er, yes," Gandalf grimaced. _Here it comes_, "About that-"

"Perhaps it is my age finally getting to me," Elrond mused, cutting the wizard off before Gandalf could even start on some logical sounding excuse or other in a bid to save his hide, "I am quite _old_, after all. But I could have sworn that it was not long ago where we were both present in this very room and that _you_, yourself, swore that you would find a way to _help_ my sons. Are my _ancient_ faculties failing? Am I mistaken in the results of our previous conversation?"

"No," the wizard grumped. The damnable Elf Lord was doing a fair impression of Erestor at his snootiest and Gandalf didn't care for it one bit. "You are not mistaken. I did say that I would help."

"I see," Elrond smiled sickeningly sweet as he glanced down at his chest and scratched lightly at the back of one of his hands, "Then do please explain to me how dragging my son to Mordor is helping anything at all."

"Yes, well, you see, that's the thing," Gandalf said quickly, tripping over his own words in his haste to outtalk the _very_ threatening Elf Lord, "I'm not really planning to drag Elrohir to Mordor."

"How can you not?" Elrond asked skeptically, his eyes glancing up at the wizard for a moment before returning to his hands, "That is the ultimate destination for your _Fellowship_, is it not?"

"It is," Gandalf agreed readily enough, "However I have no intention of taking him the entire way."

"What are you planning to do with my son?" Elrond demanded, alarm quite visible upon his face as he looked up.

"I don't believe that the Fellowship will be able to avoid trekking through the lands of the Horse-lords, not completely," Gandalf explained, "With that in mind, I have every intention of leaving Elrohir in Rohan until the quest has been seen through to its completion, one way or another."

"Why would you leave my son alone in a land full of men who are well known to be suspicious of elves?" Elrond asked in confusion.

"I have it on good authority that a particular elf, known wide as the 'Orc Bane', has made the acquaintance of one Theodred, son of Theoden, King of Rohan, and his cousins as well," Gandalf clarified, "That horse of his certainly adds a great deal of credence to that."

"Good authority?" Elrond muttered, the skepticism plain in his voice, "I do hope the _good_ in that comes from somewhere other than Saruman."

"Of course," Gandalf scoffed this time, "Saruman is not the only authority in Rohan. My sources are far and wide and many, I do not rely on fellow wizards for information."

"As you say," Elrond murmured in relief, "But how exactly are you going to make him stay there? I don't see him agreeing to this, not at all."

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about," Gandalf grinned impishly, "I hear that those children are quite clever. I'm sure that they can come up with something or other to keep him there. At the very least, the girl, Eowyn, can sit on him. I have heard that she is quite feisty."

"Be that as it may, what of Saruman?" Elrond queried worriedly, "He is _right there_. I do not fancy the idea of my son being that close to him for any given length of time."

"I don't know about Saruman," Gandalf said darkly, their betrayal by the White Wizard left far too many matters in question, "If I think that he poses a substantial threat, I'll knock that troublesome son of yours out, summon Gwaihir and have him taken to Caras Galadhon with orders to chain him up for the duration."

Elrond snorted at that, "That, my friend, will earn you a life long enemy. And where we are concerned, that could be a very, _very_ long time to spend watching your back."

"Yes, well," Gandalf shrugged helplessly, "There's no pleasing everyone."

---

Aragorn swore viciously under his breath as he stalked down one of the many garden paths in Rivendell. Scowling darkly, he glanced around suspiciously to make sure there were no elves lingering about to hear him. He may be over eighty years of age now, but to the elves he was still just a child and it was a certainty that he'd get lectured for his language if any of them caught him swearing in Dwarvish. He really didn't think he could handle that at the moment, not after yet _another_ morning absolutely wasted in a fruitless search for Elladan.

It had been almost a week now, almost an entire week where he had not seen hide nor hair of his brother. He was starting to feel a bit insulted and, well, snubbed. Did Elladan truly believe that he would take matters so badly that the only recourse left to the elf was to avoid him? Surely not, and yet... his brother was still very much absent.

The sound of metal on metal registered in Aragorn's mind, bringing that morose train of thought to a halt as well as his disgruntled stalk. It sounded as if someone were sparring with swords in the practice field. Hmm, it was a bit late for morning practice, that meant it must be Glorfindel and someone else. The seneschal didn't really approve of others taking up arms against each other without his supervision. Even though such occasions were supposed to be for the sake of _practice_, really, anything could happen and the elder elf wanted to be present in case it did.

Perhaps Aragorn could impose upon Glorfindel and whoever it was that the elf was sparring with, he definitely needed some sort of outlet to get rid of all the frustrated energy coiling around his insides. His father would certainly notice that something was wrong if he showed up at lunch still wrapped in snarly knots, just as Elrond had been able to discern for the past few days, and Aragorn didn't want yet another repeat of that. He really didn't want to worry his father more than necessary. _Again_.

Yes, a bit of sparring would most likely help. Deciding upon that course of action, Aragorn cut through the trees and strode purposefully towards the practice field. He froze dead in his track when he finally reached the field and its occupants came into view. One of them _was_ Glorfindel, but the person that he was sparring against was a bit of an unpleasant surprise. Elrohir. Aragorn _really_ didn't fancy the thought of taking up a sword against his other brother, even for the sake of getting rid of some excess energy. Somehow, that didn't strike him as being such a good idea. At all. It just didn't seem right.

The two combatant circled each other, eyeing their companion warily, searching for any weaknesses in their defenses, trying to gauge the proper time to strike. When a strike came, it was swift, almost too fast for the eye to follow, and only the sharp clang of metal upon metal heralded that it had been unsuccessful. Both elves were breathing hard from their exertions, a smudge of dirt here and there a visible testament to previous successes and failures. It looked as if they had been at this for quite awhile.

Aragorn momentarily debated leaving, but decided against it. He already knew that they were aware of his presence. It was next to impossible to sneak up on an elf and even more so when they were in the frame of mind for battle. No, they definitely knew he was there, so he might as well stick around long enough to say hello. There was no way he was going to spar with Elrohir; and he couldn't really do so with Glorfindel either, not while his brother was present. That might seem rude. Nor was there any way of telling how much longer they'd be at it, so attempting to wait them out would be pointless. A simple greeting would have to suffice.

Mentally shaking his head, Aragorn skirted around the field, keeping a fair, safe distance from the combatants. It probably wouldn't matter whether he kept his distance or not, they _were_ quite good, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. And besides, he didn't feel like getting yelled at by Glorfindel for something as ridiculous as walking out onto the practice field while actual weapons were in use.

He frowned when he got a real good look at Elrohir. Strange. Aragorn had not actually seen his brother without those really unsettling Mirkwood braids. At the moment, the elf very much looked like he was a longtime member of one of the Rivendell patrol, and for once he didn't really look all that odd or stand out quite so much. This was different. In fact, he almost looked like Elladan.

_Wait a minute_.

He didn't just look like Elladan, he _was_ Elladan. Aragorn boggled at his brother. He had never seen Elladan even look askew at a sword before, much less pick one up. In fact, he had never really even considered the possibility that his brother might be a warrior of any sort. It stood to reason, of course, their father was a master of the sword, he _knew_ this, even though he had never _seen_ Elrond take one up. So yes, it stood to reason that Elladan would be familiar with some form of arms or another as well. Unconsciously knowing this, however, and having said knowledge unequivocally intrude upon his reality were entirely two different things.

And by all appearances, Elladan was quite skilled. The way he deflected a strike from Glorfindel with an inherent grace of movement spoke clearly of ages spent doing just that very thing. Unfortunately, any further amazed musings upon his brother's newly shown talents were brought to an abrupt halt by a sharp gesture from Elladan that signaled a conclusion to their sparring match. Glorfindel gave Elladan a companionable bow and Aragorn a silent wave of greeting before heading off towards the Last Homely House.

Elladan sheathed his sword as Aragorn thoughtfully watched the elder elf depart. It appeared as if he was not the only one who desired that the two of them have something of a talk. That was a point in his favor, somewhat, now if only his brother would just play along. "Elladan," Aragorn started simply.

"Estel," Elladan returned with an easy smile, "I have not seen you for several days."

"Yes, I know," Aragorn frowned, crossing his arms in a defensive manner, "Though, not for any lack of trying on my part. I have been all _over_ this valley, multiple times, I might add, looking for you."

"Ah, I see," Elladan winced and shook his head sadly before approaching his brother, "Forgive me, Estel, I needed time alone to think about... something, and then father requested a rather difficult task of me. I'm afraid it kept me quite busy for several days."

"Really?" Aragorn asked, his curiosity piqued slightly, "And what task would that have been?"

Elladan laughed, "Oh no, I cannot tell you that. It is father's right, not mine." His mirth cooled instantly at Aragorn's confused look. "Do not worry, you will find out what it was before the departure of the Fellowship, rest assured of that."

"If you say so," Aragorn murmured in uncertainty, realizing he wouldn't be able to get anything more out of his brother on that particular subject. Grimacing slightly at the next bone of contention, Aragorn asked, "And what was it that you had to think about off on your own?"

Elladan scowled darkly, his gaze dropping to the ground, "Elrohir has asked something of me, I needed time alone to come to a decision about it."

"And did you?" Aragorn cautiously inquired.

"Of a sorts," Elladan hedged while eyeing his brother suspiciously.

Aragorn sighed wearily. It was becoming very apparent that Elladan was going to keep skirting around the issue unless he approached it directly. Just wonderful. "I wish you had come to me about it."

"I did not wish to bother you with something... like that," Elladan offered in apology.

"Yeah, well, finding out about it from others was a bit of an unpleasant shock," Aragorn groused acidly.

Elladan blinked, that didn't sound quite right, "And just what did you hear about it from the others?"

"The Havens, Elladan, the _Grey_ Havens," Aragorn growled, shooting his brother a scathing glare.

"Oh. _Oh!_" Elladan shook his head, wincing at the misinterpretation of his choice caused by his absence. Though, to be truthful, it was only a misinterpretation where his human brother was concerned, he did not really want any of the others to know the course of action he had decided upon, not yet. "Forgive me, Estel, I have done you a great disservice by not speaking to you directly. I did not mean to hurt you. All I can say is that it is not what it seems."

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked in confusion. How could it not be what it appeared to be? Either you were going to the Grey Havens or you were not.

"Well, I _do_ plan to accompany Arwen on her journey to the Havens," Elladan supplied hesitantly, "But..."

Aragorn's eyes widened in surprised understanding at the implication of what Elladan _wasn't_ saying, "You don't intend to sail with her."

"No, I don't. Please do not mention this to any of the others, if they find out they will try to convince me otherwise and I really do not wish to get into it with them," Elladan pleaded, "The only reason that I am telling you now is because I know that you will understand."

"But I don't understand," Aragorn interjected, "Arwen told me the reasons for all that has happened, at least, the ones she was comfortable speaking about. Knowing all of that, I can't say that I understand why you won't go."

"It is not difficult, Estel," Elladan sighed, tilting his head back and staring forlornly up at the sky, "Think about it, _really_ think about it. Taking into account all of the knowledge that you now possess, would _you_ leave if our positions were reversed?"

Aragorn's shoulders drooped at that. He really didn't need to think about it to know his answer to that particular question. "No, I wouldn't."

"And thus, you see, you truly _do_ understand. You may not want to, but you do nonetheless," Elladan said quietly as he tilted his head back down and gazed over at his brother. It was a pity that it took such a painful event to show how similar their streaks of determination were at times. And yet, he was thankful for it. He took great comfort in knowing that at least one brother still understood his reasoning. He did not think that Elrohir was truly capable of that anymore.

"I _do_ understand," Aragorn murmured dejectedly, "I just wish... I just wish there was something I could do. I don't want you to die. I don't want _any_ of you to die."

"I do not wish to die either, Estel," Elladan offered sardonically, "I have no wish to leave these shores just yet, in _any_ manner. But if it does happen, then it will happen and there is little any of us can do about it."

"I do not like this," Aragorn grumbled, dipping his chin down to look at the ground, "I do not relish being so helpless."

"To be perfectly honest, I don't think that any of us do. I certainly don't." Elladan frowned, his brows scrunching up slightly in thought, "But I do not think that you are helpless in this. In fact, you are probably less so than the rest of us."

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, lifting his gaze up curiously.

"It is simple, really, Estel," Elladan explained, "You are a member of the Fellowship that is sworn to aid Frodo in his task. As such, you are in the perfect position to do more than any of the rest of us can at this point."

"And that would be?" Aragorn cocked an eyebrow in waning curiosity. The way the conversation was heading made it quite easy to guess where his brother was going with this, but he thought it needed to be voiced anyway, for Elladan's peace of mind if nothing else.

"I think you already know," Elladan stated as he reached up and firmly gripped Aragorn's shoulder, "Soon you will leave Imladris on what I do not doubt will be an extremely difficult quest, and Elrohir is going with you. Please, all that I ask of you is that you try to keep him from getting himself killed."

"You know that I will, Elladan," Aragorn said morosely, "And I would do so even were he not our brother."

"I know, but I had to ask," Elladan smiled weakly, "And while you're at it, try not to get yourself killed either. Father would not take kindly to that."

---

The elves were not what he had expected, Boromir finally decided, nor were they anything like what his father would have led him to believe. Admittedly, there were a few who were rather haughty -mostly the advisors, councilors and others of their ilk-, but on a whole, the elves of Rivendell were of the agreeable sort. The guardsmen, the servants and the general inhabitants of the valley were pleasant to converse with and their Lord was easily approachable, if slightly _touchy_, though he truly doubted that he was the cause for _that_. Interestingly enough, he had witnessed quite a few instances of Gandalf doing his level best to avoid any and all contact with Lord Elrond in the past few days. Nay, he was not the cause of the elf's vague touches of temper. The wizard, on the other hand...

Boromir couldn't help but smile at the thought. It was a pity that his brother hadn't been allowed to come, Faramir would have found the entire escapade amusing. But no, as entertaining as it was, Faramir was far too serious to have enjoyed it. He would have still been fretting over the results of the Council, not that Boromir, himself, wasn't worried about it, but there wasn't much that he could do at this point. He could only hope that the others realized the folly of this _quest_ before they entered Mordor. Surely there was enough time between here and there for him to convince them otherwise.

Boromir sighed silently as he made his way to the stables. The next few months were going to be anything but pleasant, and if that wasn't enough, according to Gandalf they were going to be making the entire journey on foot. They were going to be tromping along the Misty Mountains _on foot_. The Valar must hate him.

Boromir shuddered at that particular train of thought as he finally reached the stables and entered the ornate wooden building. The elves really were remarkable architects, if a bit fancy. Though, really, considering how long they were rumored to live, what else were they going to do with their spare time? Grow flowers?

Nodding companionably to the stable hands, Boromir wended his way through the stalls, heading for the one that housed his mount. Going on foot meant going on foot, and thus, all of the horses would be remaining behind. Alas, he'd have to send his own horse back to Gondor with his men and with_out_ him. That should go over spectacularly well with his father. He shuddered again and thanked effusively whatever Valar out there that _might_ still like him that he wasn't going to be present for that.

All unpleasant thoughts of his father's reaction to his actions immediately fled his mind as Boromir turned a corner and suddenly realized that he wasn't alone. The Mearas that he had been ever so curious about upon recognizing just what it was was being tended to at the moment. And not just by anyone, but by Elrohir. The elf known as the Orc Bane.

Not all elves were unknown to him, it was true, and while he had never met _this_ specific elf before, you couldn't live in Gondor or Rohan -or anywhere _else_ east of the Misty Mountain for that matter- without hearing the tales, though most did not know of his name. His _father_ had met the Orc Bane once in his youth, long before he had ever put thought to his eventual role as Steward. And while Denethor might disparage anyone or anything that he felt like, he did always seem rather reticent upon voicing his opinion on this particular subject.

That was not the whole of it either, for even he had heard some of the rumors that had filtered out of Rohan in the past few years. Interesting rumors that for all intent and purpose now appeared to bear some grains of truth to them. That _horse_ certainly lent a bit of accuracy to them, if nothing else.

Schooling his feature into what he hoped was a decent look of friendly curiosity, Boromir cautiously approached the stall and gently cleared his voice, "Good morn."

"And to you," Elrohir murmured as he eyed the man warily. In his travels he had not heard anything particularly bad about the Steward's first son, but Boromir was still Denethor's son and he knew enough about _that_ man to keep his guard up. "Though, perhaps good afternoon would be more appropriate."

"I suppose you are right, the day is getting on," Boromir chuckled self consciously. Diplomacy was not his forte, and Elrohir was obviously more than a little suspicious of him. Well, maybe a more direct approach was in order. "I must confess, I was a bit surprised when I saw yon horse here for the first time, but now, I do believe that matters are starting to make a bit more sense."

"Really?" Elrohir cocked an eyebrow curiously as he brushed a hand down the neck of his steed, earning a playful nip at his hair for his trouble, "And why is that?"

"We've been hearing rumors in the White City for the past few years," Boromir explained as he leaned against the stall door, "Fascinating rumors that make their way out of Rohan and speak of a Horse Lord who is not of the Rohirrim. Though, none so far have guessed that said Horse Lord and the legendary Orc Bane are one in the same."

Elrohir frowned, he had never really cared for the odd titles that men kept piling upon his shoulders. The 'Orc Bane' title, while generally amusing in and of itself, was bad enough without others added on. "It is no secret that I dwelt within Rohan for a time."

"Perhaps not to you," Boromir said slowly and hoped that he wasn't about to nudge the proverbial hornet's nest, "But you must admit it is a bit of a surprise to someone like me, all things considered. No offense intended, but Rohan is well known for being suspicious of the elves."

"Really now?" Elrohir asked silkily, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "And where did you hear of such a thing?"

Boromir shrugged, "My father knows his politics and doesn't hesitate to share whatever information he comes across with me."

"Is that so? And do you believe everything that your father says?" Elrohir queried, his lips curling mildly in a humorless smile.

"Of course," Boromir scowled, answering almost immediately. The elf's tone did not sit well with him. Was Elrohir going to try and insult his father? He would not stand for that, even from someone of such high, if odd, regard.

"That's interesting," Elrohir murmured as he leaned against his steed, his smile growing more pronounced, "And do you believe what he says about your brother?"

Boromir's eyes widened in shocked surprise. _That_ was completely unexpected. Where did he... how could he... Where did that come from? It was true that their father had always been rather... _hard_ on Faramir, but he had never imagined that his family's strained relationships had become the possible object of gossip.

"Did I surprise you?" Elrohir chuckled hollowly, tilting his head slightly and laying his forehead against his horse's neck as he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. "I have heard about a great many things in my travels, Boromir of Gondor, and of all that is spoken of about you, your steadfast loyalty is the most prevalent subject of discourse. But I have to wonder, is it loyalty to your father or loyalty to your people."

"To both, they are one and the same," Boromir retorted hotly. That anyone would _dare_ to question his loyalty, and an _elf_ no less... The very idea was absurd.

"Is that what you believe?" Elrohir snorted in derision and turned his back on the Gondorian. "You cannot have it both ways, we both know your father too well for that. One day you _will_ have to decide." Crossing his arms, the elf hummed quietly for a moment before turning back to face the man, pinning Boromir with a sharp look. "I'll leave it for now, but if your allegiance becomes a problem, do not think that I will hesitate in removing you from the Fellowship, with or without Mithrandir's approval."

Boromir scowled darkly. So that's how it was going to be. Well, this little quest was looking better and better everyday. "Likewise," he muttered sourly.

Elrohir smiled dangerously at that. "It's good that we understand each other."

---

I'm going to try and use the 'review reply' system from here on out for signed reviews. Here's hoping that it'll work properly.


	8. The Fellowship: Departures

**Perennial  
The Fellowship - Departures  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: Again, I am late. However, this chapter _is_ three times bigger than usual so I do have something of an excuse. I should have broken it up, but I really didn't want to do that again (especially as this is the last chapter in Part 1 - The Fellowship). The next chapter, thankfully, will be more of a normal size and shouldn't take nearly quite so long to finish (it will also start Part 2 - Moria).

Note #3: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

"Ow!"

Aragorn hissed in pain as he yanked his hand back from the door latch. He had been about to enter his father's study, having been summoned there by the Lord for some reason or other, but the instant his hand had touched the latch he had gotten a rather unexpected and painful shock. He shook the injured appendage in an attempt to rid himself of some of the tingling, but gave up almost immediately and instead reached up and sucked soothingly on his stinging fingertips. Using his other hand, and making sure that he was well out of reach of the treacherous latch, Aragorn knocked on the study door.

A moment later a rather curt sounding "Yes, what is it?" wafted out.

"Could you come get the door, father?" Aragorn mumbled past the fingers stuffed in his mouth, "There's a bit of a problem out here."

"Just a moment." Aragorn could hear the muffled sound of a chair being shifted, but nothing after that, which really wasn't a surprise. Most elves were quite adept at being soundless in their movements and Elrond was a bit above even the norm for his race. A few seconds later the door was pulled open and the Elf Lord himself glanced out into the hallway, arching an eyebrow curiously at his youngest son, "What _is_ the matter, Estel?"

"There's a curse on your door," Aragorn exclaimed as he continued to suck on his fingers, which were still stinging rather sharply.

"Truly?" Elrond blinked in surprise then turned his gaze upon the suspect door. He studied the latch for a moment, it appeared innocent enough, though he knew better than to take things at face value, before stretching a hand out towards it.

Aragorn grabbed his father's arm, halting any further movement, "Don't touch it! It hurts."

Elrond gave Aragorn a reproachful look, one of the 'Do I look stupid?' variety, and shrugged off his son's grip. What _did_ he take him for, an elfing just out of nappies? Turning his attention back to the door, Elrond reached forward ghosting his fingertips just above the surface of the latch, feeling for what could not be seen, only sensed. He scowled as he felt a familiar spark of something, oh yes, something _very_ familiar. Muttering heatedly under his breath, he whipped his hand over the latch as if he were tearing something away. Aragorn winced as his ears popped at the very same moment. "Do not be concerned, Estel," Elrond growled as he turned and stalked back into his study, "It was just Mithrandir thinking that he is clever."

"Wait." Scrunching his brows up in bewilderment, Aragorn blew on his fingers as he finally removed them from his mouth. "You mean to tell me that _Gandalf_ pranked you?"

"If that is how you wish to describe it," Elrond grimaced, shooting his human son a scathing look which was promptly ignored, "Then yes, he _pranked_ me."

Aragorn chuckled as he shook his hand out again. It still tingled painfully, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it had initially been. "How old are you two again?"

Elrond speared Aragorn with an even darker look, one that clearly held a dire warning. _Proceed at your own risk_. "I don't see what _that_ has to do with anything," he said snidely in conjunction with the look.

"Oh nothing, nothing at all." Aragorn waved his non-injured hand airily, heeding the obvious threat and quickly changing the subject, "You wanted to see me about something?"

"Yes," Elrond murmured simply and frowned. Turning back towards his desk, he hesitantly reached down and picked up something long and slender. He stared at it forlornly for a moment's time, then shook his head and turned back around, holding it out for Aragorn to take.

Aragorn blinked in surprise at the object his father was offering him. Elrond was giving him a sword? Reaching out, he wrapped his non-tingling hand around the sheath and hefted it easily from the elf's grasp, but stopped when he finally took a good look at it. This was... He lifted his shocked gaze back to his father's face, a question he could not put words to just yet apparent in his eyes.

"Aye, it is Narsil reforged," Elrond supplied as he leaned back heavily against his desk. For some odd reason he felt mildly unsteady, though perhaps it wasn't odd at all. He _had_ been far too emotional of late and _gifting_ his son with this particular burden was certainly trying, to say the least. "As it was meant to be upon the reemergence of Isildur's Bane."

Aragorn shook his head at his father's words. This was... too much. He couldn't handle this on top of everything else. He did not want it. He had never wanted it.

"Estel- Nay, _Aragorn_," Elrond began, sifting through the words in his mind's eye and what he wished for them to convey even as he spoke them, "This was meant to be. A sword cannot decide its own fate. But... it will only bear as much significance as you place upon it. Its fate is not its own, yours is. Do not let it decide for you, allow no one to do that, not I or your brothers, not the wizards or the elves, not even your fellow man. Make your own decisions about your future, my son, and let them not be clouded by the desires of others."

Aragorn's eyes widened in complete shock, then slowly he nodded, smiling softly as he murmured, "I understand. Thank you."

"You are my son, Estel, and you will always remain so, no matter who or what you decide to become one day," Elrond explained, his own soft smile mirroring his foster son's, "And where ever you may travel, where ever you may come to live, Imladris will always remain your home. Do not forget that."

"I won't." Aragorn said quietly, a soft smile still gracing his lips, then shook his head, "Nay, I could not forget even if I tried." Grinning broadly, he reverently drew the sword from its sheath, staring agape in awe when its entire length glittered and gleamed in the light. This truly was the great Sword of Elendil, but it did not even appear as if it had ever been shattered asunder. "Remarkable. If I had not spent my childhood racing past the Shards enshrined here, I never would have guessed that it was still in pieces only a few days past."

"Aye," Elrond chuckled lightly, "Elladan does good work. I had expected it to take longer, but he surprised me. Your brother has greater skill at smithing that I had originally surmised."

"Elladan?" Aragorn boggled, but then he remembered the conversation he and his brother had shared just a few days before. "This was what he was off doing?"

"Yes, he was the only one I trusted enough to get the job done properly," Elrond confirmed, his smile turning fond at old memories as he further clarified, "When they were very young, and still quite the little hellions, your brothers took more than a bit of interest in blacksmithing. Their grandfather, Lord Celeborn, was somewhat concerned by this odd interest of theirs, and rightfully so considering the disaster that came of Celebrimbor's foray into the same craft. Thankfully, the twins had enough sense to not take things _too_ far."

"I'll have to give him my compliments later," Aragorn said in wonder as he shifted the sword around in his grasp, allowing the light to strike it from every angle. It truly was a beautiful blade, its mirror sheen reflected light so clearly that it almost appeared to be lit from within by a silver flame. He could well see the reason for why it had become such a legend, even without the history of its wielders. "Have you named it yet?" he asked absently, his eyes still glued to the sword, admiration shining in their depths.

"Nay, I shall leave that task to you." Elrond's lips curled slightly in amusement at the bewildered look Aragorn gave him as he explained his reasoning for that particular decision, "It is a sword meant for Man, _Estel_, thus it should be the Hope of Man who names it."

"Oh please, not you too," Aragorn grumbled, rolling his eyes as he resheathed the sword that once was broken, "I've gotten teased more than enough about that recently, I don't need you joining in on the _fun_. Erestor is bad enough on his own."

Elrond bit his tongue to keep from snickering at his son's obvious discomfort on the subject, "Choose wisely, Estel. You wouldn't want to shame your family by picking something embarrassing." The Elf Lord grinned impishly at Aragorn's audible groan before he added a fell warning onto that, "Do not, and I must stress this, _do not_ ask Arwen to aid you in this task. Your sister's idea of giving proper names to objects leaves much to be desired."

Aragorn eyed his father suspiciously. "I don't really want to know, do I?"

"No," Elrond shuddered visibly as he recalled the last time Arwen's _creativity_ had gotten more than a little out of hand, "No, you _really_ don't."

---

It had been many a year now since Elladan had had any need to set foot into the stables of Rivendell. Elrohir's long ago command to stay behind and his own hopeless decision to continue to wait had eventually translated into him simply never having need of a mount, and thus he had not had one for a very long time now. And yet, here he was, walking back into the familiar territory that he had shunned for so long, and all at the request of his twin. He had assumed that Elrohir would not wish to speak with him again before the time of the Fellowship's departure, they had both been effectively avoiding each other so far, but apparently he had been incorrect in that assumption.

Elrohir wanted something else from him and that made him nervous. His brother's _last_ request, if it could even be called that, was still a rather hot object of contention. Elladan was quite sure that it would get even worse when his own choice about it finally became known. Hopefully, he would already be in Mithlond by then and would only have to deal with Arwen. Arwen and their father's ire could be weathered well enough separately, together, not so much.

Steeling himself for what lay ahead, Elladan rounded the last corner that he knew would lead him to his twin. Elrohir was there, of course, it would have been rather ridiculous to summon him and not be present. At the moment, his brother was tending to a dark bay, a horse that could be nothing other than one of the Mearas. He had not disbelieved any of the whispers going on about it, but still, it was a bit of a surprise to see in person. The entire thing practically begged the question of just _what_ Elrohir had been doing lately to warrant having a Mearas for a steed.

Once, long ago, he would have known such a thing. They always knew what the other was up to in one form or another back then. But that time had long since passed into history, all they were to each other now were familiar strangers. No, he shouldn't allow himself dwell upon it, there was nothing that could be done for it now.

Shaking his head at his own thoughts, Elladan schooled his expression into neutral blandness and strode purposefully up to the stall door. "You called for me?"

"Yes," Elrohir answered simply, then beckoned Elladan within with a welcoming gesture, "Don't just stand out there, come inside, I want to introduce you two."

Elladan blinked in surprise at Elrohir oddly pleasant demeanor. What was all this about? Reaching down, he unhitched the latch and slid within, closing the stall door behind him. The horse nickered softly at his approach and stretched forward, bumping Elladan squarely in the chest with its head.

"He likes you. That's good," Elrohir commented quietly, a small smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

"He's beautiful," Elladan murmured appreciatively as he brushed his fingers over the slender white star centered upon the steed's brow. "What's his name?"

"Brego," Elrohir supplied readily as he crossed his arms and leaned companionably against the horse's shoulder.

"A kingly name for a kingly horse," Elladan chuckled lightly as the so named steed started nipping and tugging gently at his hair, "Rather presumptuous though, don't you think?"

"Not if you take into account the person who named him," Elrohir snorted indelicately, then explained further at Elladan's curious look, "Theodred wasn't very keen on proper etiquette when naming horses. Some of his choices could get downright bizarre, but thankfully he _reined_ himself in, so to speak, when naming his own mount."

"Theodred," Elladan muttered as he mulled over that particular name in his head. It sounded somewhat familiar. "Isn't he-"

"Yes, Theodred is the son of Theoden, King of Rohan," Elrohir answered quickly, cutting his twin off in mid-question. Twisting slightly, he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the horse's velvety coat. "I spent several years in Rohan and made the acquaintance of Theodred and his cousins, Eomer and Eowyn." He smiled softly at the memories his words recalled. "When I decided that it was finally time for me to move on, Theodred insisted that I take Brego with me. He said that his horse would serve me well in his stead, since he, himself, would not be able to do so."

"He was a good friend to you." Elladan observed, watching in wonder as the warmth bled back bit by bit into his twin. Was there some hope left for them, after all?

"Aye, he was, all three of them were," Elrohir said sadly as he opened his eyes slightly and looked dismally over at his brother, "But it wasn't enough. It's never enough."

"No, I suppose not," Elladan muttered in defeat, a downcast expression flitting across his face. The past could be forgotten for a moment here and there, but it always returned to them. Always.

"I'm tired, Elladan, so very tired," Elrohir sighed heavily as he reached up and ran his fingers through the tail ends of Brego's soft, glossy mane. "I go through the motions but I can't seem to find it in me to care anymore."

"I know," Elladan scowled morosely, blinking his eyes rapidly to keep himself from crying yet again. He had shed enough tears already, and would surely shed more soon enough, but not right now, he really didn't need them right now.

"There I go again," Elrohir tsked as he straightened back up, "I'm hurting you. I don't mean to, but I can't seem to stop."

Elladan shrugged bitterly, "What else are you going to do? You can't exactly read me anymore."

"No, I can't. I am sorry for that. I wish I could change it, but there's nothing I can do anymore. I don't think I could get through even if I tried," Elrohir frowned, reaching up and gently removing his twin's hair from Brego's mouth, bringing the horse's playful nips to an immediate halt.

Elladan grimaced and scrunched his nose up as he surveyed his very soggy hair. "Yay, horse spit. Just what I needed."

"Sorry about that," Elrohir grinned mildly as if refuting his very own words, "It's just his way of showing affection."

"Great," Elladan grumbled, practically cringing as he rung the excess _spit_ out of his hair, "I'm going to have to take another bath before lunch."

"It could have been worse," Elrohir said conversationally, his grin widening ever so slightly at the flat glare Elladan sent his way, "At least he likes you, you wouldn't want to see what he does to those poor souls that he does not care for."

"No doubt, being favored by him is unpleasant enough," Elladan grumped as he gave up on his hair and flipped it back over his shoulder, "By the way, what _did_ you want to see me for?"

"It is Brego's fate that I wish to speak with you about," Elrohir began, crossing his arms absently as he raked his gaze across his mount. "Mithrandir's Fellowship will not be taking horses upon its fool's quest, thus I will have to leave him here."

Elladan nodded, noting Elrohir's already apparent mental separation from the Fellowship he was meant to be a part of, but not really surprised by it. If the Grey Pilgrim wanted his twin's full participation in this endeavor the wizard was going to have to fight for it the entire way, and good luck to him too. He was going to need it.

"I do not expect to return to Imladris, nor do I plan to," Elrohir explained further as he began to scratch self-consciously at one of his elbow, "And while a more steadfast steed I could not ask for, nor a better friend, I know that he grows weary of the continual conflict I keep dragging him into."

"World weariness is not limited to us elves," Elladan said simply in understanding.

"No, it is not," Elrohir chuckled humorlessly, "I must leave him soon, but I don't want to abandon him. He deserves better than that." Giving himself a little shake, Elrohir stood up straighter and locked his eyes with his twin, "I want you to take him with you when you leave. He _deserves_ peace, the peace that I cannot give him but that you can."

"Of course," Elladan murmured quietly as he reached up and scratched gently at Brego's muzzle, "I'm honored that you would entrust something so precious into my keeping."

"I trust you implicitly, Elladan, nothing can change that," Elrohir said flatly and frowned, "And I trust that you'll make the right decision in the end."

Elladan blinked in surprise, shooting his twin a suspicious glance before returning his attention to Brego. Had Elrohir guessed about his decision to not sail? Surely not, no one else had figured it out as of yet and their bond was still encased in ice. Then again, they hadn't always needed their soul-deep connection to know each other's mind. Perhaps there was something of the Elrohir of old that still remained.

---

The room, if it could even be called that, that housed the Shards of Narsil did not, in any way, fit his idea of a proper shrine for such a legendary artifact. It wasn't even really a room proper, it could better be described as a glorified balcony, or a porch, for that matter. It was not, in Boromir's opinion, an appropriate resting place for something so very important to the history of Middle-earth. Granted, the elven architecture was breath-taking -but that could easily be said of every structure _in_ Rivendell-, and the murals depicting the Last Alliance were without peer. If only Faramir were with him, surely his brother could have wheedled the identify of the master painter out of the elves, and then somehow convinced said personage to come back to Minas Tirith with them. It had to have been an elf who did the work, and since elves lived forever -supposedly-, surely the fellow was still around somewhere.

Boromir sighed as he gazed longingly at the mural that portrayed Isildur, his father's shattered sword in hand, standing against the looming shadow of Sauron. That a man, a simple man -well, a Numenorean, but still mostly a man-, stood up against such oppressive might should give hope to mankind. Instead, it seemed of late, that people, while eager to feel pride upon the accomplishments of others, were even more eager to forget the strengths of will and determination that were the true foundations of such. They could use reminders such as this, though perhaps he was giving them too much credit. It was just a painting, after all, it could only convey as much meaning as the observer was willing to accept.

It would have still looked good in the citadel, though. It was a pity that Faramir's absence prevented any possibility of that. Oh well.

Shaking his head at the lost opportunity, Boromir turned his attention to the statue that he knew held the shards. It was an odd altar, if serenely beautiful, but it served its purpose well. Though, he did wonder exactly what the elves did when it rained. Surely they didn't leave the broken sword out in the elements, then again, the elves _were_ a bit odd when it came to nature. Still, he hadn't seen any evidence of weathering when last he had come to view this particular piece of history, so perhaps the elves had things well in hand after all.

Boromir stepped closer to the statue and frowned. Everything was as it had been during his last visit, though that had been over a week past now. The statue's arms were still held out in supplication, still holding up the surface upon which a cloth of silk was stretched, but where once the Shards of Narsil lay, now there was nothing. Where was the Sword that was Broken?

Chewing nervously on his bottom lip, Boromir glanced around in confusion. The elves must have removed it for some reason or another, though hopefully not because of his interest in it. They hadn't seemed overly suspicious of him -And really, who would be fool enough to steal something like that from the elves? Dream or no dream.-, but that didn't mean much. He had enough trouble reading his fellow man, trying to figure out what the elves were thinking was an effort in futility. But no, the Grey Wizard had said that the broken sword belonged to Aragorn, so surely the elves wouldn't have done anything with the shards without the ranger's permission.

Aragorn would know. He should ask him. Nodding decisively at that, Boromir took one more glance around the _room_ before turning to head out. He halted in mid-stride when what he had glimpsed finally registered in his mind. Whirling back around, he stared hard into the darkness of the far corner. It was partly blocked by the statue and the columns, but yes, there _was_ someone sitting over there, someone who was fast becoming familiar to him.

Aragorn.

_Seek and you shall find_. Boromir thought as he strode over towards the corner, feeling just a slight tinge of irritation. The ranger must have been watching him the entire time, but no, Aragorn didn't even seem to be paying one whit of attention to the rest of the surrounding area. The ranger was instead staring out into the ink black vista, his chin resting upon his hand, his elbow propped upon the balustrade. Aragorn's brows were drawn together in deep concentration and a frown marred his lips. One of his legs was crossed upon the other, and the ranger's free hand rest tensely upon a sword laid out across his lap.

"Aragorn?" Boromir ventured warily. During the planning sessions for the quest, he had noticed that the ranger could descend into frightening intensities of thought when they were called for, some that could be almost as disturbing as the elf's, but this seemed different. There was something about the Dunadan's expression that made him uneasy.

Aragorn blinked, then glanced around in abject surprise. What was Boromir doing there? _When_ had he gotten there? Why hadn't he noticed? For that matter, what time was it? Aragorn glanced around again, noting the weak, dull glow of the moon peaking through high up in the clouds. By the looks of it, it was quite late. Great, just great. He had just spent a better portion of the night mulling over a decision that he didn't even have to make just yet. He might not _even_ have to make it, the chances of any of them surviving the quest weren't all that good, after all. Still, knowing his luck he'd have to make it at the worst possible moment, so pondering upon it now was probably better done sooner rather than later.

Valar, but he didn't want to be a king.

Giving himself a mental slap, Aragorn shoved all of those particularly troublesome thoughts into a back corner of his mind and schooled his expression into something bordering upon pleasant, or at the very least, helpful. "Is there something I can do for you, Boromir?" Aragorn asked the Gondorian genially.

Boromir cocked an eyebrow in pure skepticism. That abrupt shift in the ranger's expression and mood fairly screamed 'Something's bothering me, but I don't want to talk about it!' to him. "Is there something wrong?" he inquired cautiously.

Aragorn barely avoided grimacing. Of course, Boromir would notice that he was out of sorts, he was practically projecting gloom and doom. Really, if Elladan could see him now he'd probably start worrying over what could possibly make Aragorn start emulating Elrohir. And wasn't that a lovely thought. "Nothing more than the usual," Aragorn answered cryptically, his fingers unconsciously clenching tighter around the sword in his lap.

Boromir frowned, debating with himself over what to do. Should he pry? Were they anywhere else, or if it was any other acquaintance that he had made of late -well, mostly the hobbits and the dwarves, definitely not the elves-, he wouldn't have hesitated on pressing the subject. However, this _place_, the elven... ness about it, made him feel like a little toddler if he even stepped wrong; so prodding somebody who was looked upon well by the elves would just make it that much worse. "As you say," he finally relented.

Aragorn smiled affably and thanked the Valar that Boromir hadn't attempted to make him _open up_ or anything. He just wasn't in the mood for that. "Did you need anything?" he queried in an attempt to cut through the remaining tension.

Boromir blinked in confusion for a moment before remembering what had brought him there in the first place. "Oh, yes, I was wondering if you knew what had happened to the Shards of Nar-" He stopped in mid-word as he finally looked, really _looked_, at the sword that Aragorn was holding. "Is that-" he began in wonder, but couldn't quite make himself complete that question either.

Aragorn glanced down, brushing his hand up along the hilt. Ah yes, the sword that was the crux of his problem. _Of course_ Boromir would recognize it. "Aye, tis Narsil reforged," he answered plainly.

"But how?" Boromir murmured in shocked awe. He had never imagined such a thing could come to pass.

"It was meant to be remade anew when Isildur's Bane was found," Aragorn explained, again barely keeping himself from grimacing, "As Lord Elrond was kind enough to remind me."

"I see," Boromir gazed longingly down at the blade, his fingers clutching at the air as he desperately tried to rein in the urge to lay hands upon such an integral part of his land's history. He shook his head at himself a moment later. Really, he was acting like a child who had just seen his first bit of candy. No, he would be respectable, even if it killed him, but... he still wanted to touch it. Gesturing helplessly at the sword, he hesitantly asked, "May I?"

Aragorn considered saying no for a few moments. It _was_ a sword of kings, even if he wasn't one nor wanted to be one. But, who was he to say no? The sword that had once been broken represented something infinitely precious to the Gondorian, perhaps even more so than it did to him. And, to say no now would be selfish of him, his wasn't the only destiny that may yet be carved out of the weave of fate by this particular blade. Nodding his silent assent, Aragorn offered the sword hilt first to Boromir.

Boromir couldn't resist a giddy grin as he wrapped his hands around the hilt and reverently drew the sword from its sheath. The mirror sheen of the blade instantly caught every available source of light and reflected them in coruscating waves. "Amazing," Boromir said breathily in veneration, "Tis truly a sword of legend. Never have I seen such a beautiful sight. It is as if it is lit from within by a silver flame."

Aragorn smiled indulgently at Boromir's admiration of the sword. The Gondorian was right, it was magnificent work, but he hadn't been able to feel the same way about it. At least, not since he had left his father's company. When he was with Elrond he could forget all that it entailed for him, the choices that it would demand from him, and thus could properly admire its beauty. But ever since he had left his father's study, he had not been able to do that. He hadn't even been able to think of a proper name for it. He'd been too busy wallowing in despair over what was to come.

"You know," Boromir said thoughtfully, an almost lulling note in his voice catching the ranger's full attention, "This light... it is almost like the one that Faramir and I saw in our dream. The light that rose from the west to combat the darkness of Mordor." He blinked blankly for a moment, as if he had lost his thread of thought, before turning a bewildered gaze upon Aragorn. "I wonder if it is the same."

Aragorn bit the inside of his cheek to hold back the hysterical laugh that he felt bubbling up at Boromir's words. Ah yes, prophetic dreams. He should have known. He could feel it in the air, the weight of something important that was about to pass, something that _must_ be. All he needed now was Gandalf popping out of the woodwork and muttering something nonsensical to make it perfect. Why did it have to be him?

Aragorn sighed helplessly at the words his mind eagerly latched onto. They were important words, an important name. "Flame of the West," he mumbled quietly as he smothered his hysteria. If it was meant to be, then it was meant to be. But it would only mean as much as he let it, just as Elrond had said. _Thank you, father._

Boromir raised an eyebrow curiously at the ranger's words. What was he going on about?

"Anduril," Aragorn explained, answering Boromir's unvoiced question while he gestured pointedly at the newly named sword that the Gondorian still held, "The Flame of the West. That shall be its name."

---

Elrohir hummed in appreciation as he pulled on his new dark brown overcoat, the final piece to the new attire that he had requested of the Rivendell tailors. The Mirkwood warrior's garb that he had favored of late had served him well, but it wouldn't work quite so well along the path that Mithrandir had chosen. The garb of the rangers, in their deep browns and blacks, suited the Misty Mountains better. They'd probably prove better for concealment in Mordor as well, assuming he could stand this fool's quest long enough to get that far.

The fit was perfect, though that wasn't much of a surprise. They had most likely still had his measurements on record somewhere, and barring that they could have just used Elladan's measurements. Physically, he hadn't changed much at all since he had left those many years ago. Of course, that was probably the _only_ aspect of him that was still the same as it had once been. Too much else had changed. Too much of him had grown cold, grown hard, or simply grown weary.

A soft knock on his bedroom door thankfully prevented him from going further down that particular thread of thoughts. Elrohir's lips quirked up slightly at the corners as he called out, "You can come in, it's open." He had a pretty good idea of who this was.

The door slowly creaked open a bit and the head of his little sister hesitantly peeked out from behind it. She glanced around the room, noting Elrohir's singular presence, then smiled happily and slipped through the doorway and into the room. She held a finger over her lips, forestalling any questions on his part about her behavior, as she pushed the door closed and listened carefully to whatever lay beyond it. Finally satisfied with whatever it was that she was doing, Arwen nodded and strode over to join him by the bed.

"What are you up to?" Elrohir asked curiously as he crossed his arms.

"I just wanted to make sure that I got here first," Arwen answered innocently enough, "There's no telling how long father or Elladan will take once they get here."

"What?" Elrohir frowned in some confusion, "What are they coming here for?"

"Really, Elrohir, you can be so dense," Arwen admonished, her eyes sparkling in amusement, "Of course, they're going to come see you tonight. The Fellowship is leaving shortly after dawn tomorrow. They're not going to want to say their goodbyes in front of all of those people."

"Oh," Elrohir said dumbly and grimaced. He should have thought of that. Though, he did have his doubts about Elladan coming to say his farewells. Why would his brother want to subject himself to more pain if he could avoid it?

Arwen shook her head in mild exasperation. Despite all that had happened, all that had changed him so very much from the brother she had known, Elrohir still had his moments of familiar cluelessness, rare though they were. It gave her hope, a _meager_ hope, but hope all the same.

Her gaze fell to the floor and Arwen began twisting her fingers together nervously as she recalled all that she had wanted to say to him, all that she had wanted to do, but... she couldn't. She couldn't say the words, her tongue was too heavy and her throat too constricted with sorrow to rasp them out. She couldn't take him into her arms to comfort him, she feared that she would start crying and never stop. She couldn't even shake him or slap him to try and make him see reason, it was too late for that. He was too far removed from them now, too distant for her to reach. She could do nothing for him now but say goodbye and wish him well.

No, that was incorrect. There was something else left that she could do.

"Arwen, are you all right?" Elrohir frowned at his sister's continuing silence. She had never spoken to him about her decision to sail, but it obviously still weighed heavily upon her. No doubt, his presence only succeeded in making it worse, and perhaps he was even one of the mitigating reasons that had decided her.

"I am well enough," Arwen whispered as she slowly reached up and unclasped the silver chain from around her neck. She held it up before her face, staring long and hard at the pendant dangling from it, the one that she had worn for so very long now. Her Evenstar. It would do. She gave her brother a watery smile as she reached over and swiftly secured it around his neck.

"There," she murmured softly as she brushed her fingers down across the glimmering jewel, "Now you will have something of me to take with you when you go."

"Arwen," Elrohir began, clasping her hand within his own, "I do not need a necklace for that."

"Then I am glad," Arwen said quietly, a tear trickling down her cheek despite her desire to not weep in front of him. She had not wanted his last memory of her to be marred so. "But take it with you anyway."

"As you wish," Elrohir responded simply in acceptance. He knew better than to argue with her about it, to do so would only cause her more grief.

Arwen opened her mouth, unsure of what she was going to say to him, but needing to say something, anything. A soft sound from out in the hallway prevented that. Snapping her jaws shut, she cocked her head and gazed suspiciously at the door. The sound came again and she knew her time was up. Their father was coming and Arwen _knew_ that she did not have the strength to stay and witness his pain as well. It would be her undoing.

Squaring her shoulders, Arwen wiped the stray tear from her cheek then placed her hand upon his chest, just above his heart. "Be well, my brother," she said evenly, proud that she could at least manage this without breaking down, "Or at the very least, try."

"Arwen-" Elrohir started to deny the possibility of that, but was instantly cut off.

"Do not say it," Arwen declared sharply. She was quite sure that she could not stand to hear him say nay to her words, not and retain the small hope she still had left. "This is not the end for us, Elrohir, tis only an interruption." She smiled tremulously as she reached up and brushed her fingertips across his cheek. "We will see each other again. Someday."

She stared at him for several more moments, studying his face, searing it into her mind's eye so that she could take it with her when she departed these shores. He was right, they did not need an object to carry something of the other with them, but she did not regret her gift to him. It would shine for as long as it was needed, forever perhaps.

When at last she could stand no more, Arwen turned away from her brother and walked purposefully towards the door. She did not look back as she pulled it open, she did not need to.

Elrohir watched his sister leave in silence. There was nothing more that could be said between them, nothing more that wouldn't cause harm. She would find peace soon enough upon the shores of Aman, where she would join their mother and be free of the darkness infesting Middle-earth. They would all be there... eventually.

He waited patiently and was soon rewarded by the hushed sounds of a brief conversation wafting in from the hallway. It was their father's turn to say his farewells and perhaps more. Elrond was not pleased with his addition to Mithrandir's Fellowship, he knew this, but he was and there was no altering that at this particular point in time. The Grey Wizard would never shut up if he changed his mind now.

Several seconds passed and then a gentle knock upon his door proceeded it being pushed open again. Elrond knew that his son was aware of his presence, so there was no need for the triviality of requesting entrance. Besides, even on the off chance that Elrohir would bade him go away he still would have entered. He _needed_ to see his son this one last time alone. No matter what small bits of hope that Mithrandir had tried to give to him, he could not accept them. The despair had lingered too long in his family for that.

They eyed each other carefully, trying to gauge the other's mood, as Elrond walked over to the bed and wearily sat down upon its edge. The elder elf arched an eyebrow, taking in his son's interesting choice of garb, and smiled slightly, "You look like a ranger."

Elrohir glanced down at himself and absently fingered the edge of his new overcoat. "It seemed the best suited for where we will be heading."

"Of course," Elrond said vaguely, his gaze growing sharp as he spied the familiar necklace hanging from his son's neck. "I find myself at odds with _myself_," Elrond began uneasily, his expression becoming troubled as he continued, "I would ask that you remain, but I know that is an impossibility now. Part of me wants to demand that you do so, but I cannot do that either. You are not an elfling, nor have you been one for a very long time now. I cannot force you to obey my will, and to be perfectly honest, I would not want you to either. Thus, I am at a loss of what to do."

"Just let me go, father," Elrohir sighed, tucking the Evenstar away beneath the layers of his shirt and coats. "I am confident that you will weather whatever fate has left to throw at you. You have already borne so much of it already, there cannot be much more left to it. And when the time comes, you will sail to join mother and the others in the Undying Lands. You deserve that amount of peace, at the very least."

"I suppose that is all that is left to me now," Elrond murmured hopelessly, "But you will not be there."

"No, not for some time," Elrohir quirked his lips in a cheerless smile, "It _will_ be awhile yet, but the Valar willing, it will not take _too_ long."

"You'll forgive me if I am not overjoyed at that prospect," Elrond muttered sourly and crossed his arms. "But if it must be, then it will be. There is little I can do to change it now." He scowled darkly for a moment then lowered his chin slightly in thought as something else occurred to him. "There _is_ something I can still ask of you though."

"Really?" Elrohir cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, thankful that his father's gloom had dissipated just a tiny bit at what was probably a change of subject. "And what would that be?"

"It is about Estel," Elrond explained as he reached up and rubbed his chin in contemplation, "I would like for you to watch out for him."

"I would do so anyway," Elrohir responded quickly, a small amount of surprise evident in his voice. Elrond did not think that he would ignore his human brother, despite their having known each other for such a short amount of time, did he? "You need not ask."

"Do not take offense," Elrond said, his tone calm and even to settle any possible ruffled feathers on the part of his son, "It is not in the physical sense that I am asking. I want you to watch out for Estel where Mithrandir is concerned."

Elrohir blinked blankly in confusion for several seconds, before he simply asked, "Why?"

"It is not that I do not trust our old friend," Elrond attempted to clarify, "Out of all of the Istar he has been the most caring. But I fear that he is more inclined to the greater good rather than Estel's feelings on one particular subject, and I am not fool enough to believe that the 'greater good' has my sons' best interests in mind." He smiled humorlessly to himself then, realizing that Elrohir would not catch the plural in his words. "I am afraid that in his typical meddling, Mithrandir may prematurely force your brother into making a decision he is not yet ready to decide upon."

"You know," Elrohir offered almost flippantly, "Killing him would effectively solve some of our more pressing problems where wizards are concerned."

"Probably," Elrond grumbled, "But the Valar would most likely frown upon getting rid of one of their more useful servants."

Several seconds passed in mutual silence before Elrohir asked, "Are you sure he's useful?"

---

The evening was truly beginning to wane when Elrohir received his last visitor for the night. He had dimmed all the glows earlier and had retired to the balcony, knowing that he would get no rest that night nor really caring to. It was not as if he needed it, being an elf did have its advantages. And time... well, time had become something of a meaningless march of events leading into other pointless events, ones that he just could not care for. This night, however, _was_ a bit different as it was the last night that he ever intended to spend in Imladris, his home, so perhaps he had reason enough to not sleep and time well enough to waste.

No sounds came in from the hallway, and surprisingly, the door did not even creak once as it was slowly pushed open, but Elrohir did not need to hear anything to know that someone was entering his room. A warrior did not live long while fighting the evils of Middle- earth if they were not attuned enough to their environment to notice the changes in it, and he had been at war with so much of that darkness -and himself- without pause and for so long that by now it wasn't just second nature, it _was_ his nature.

Elladan made not a sound, no soft brush of clothing or even a muffled sigh of breath, as he slipped through the doorway and tiptoed over towards the bed. He frowned thoughtfully as he drew near it, Elrohir's bed had obviously not been used at all recently. It was still well made, the sheets and blankets drawn up impeccably so that there was nary a sign of wrinkles. That did not surprise him though, it was simply another symptom of the overlying problems. They had never been quite what anyone could have called exceptionally neat before, but why should that remain the same when so much else had changed?

Elladan's frown tightened into a thin line as he glanced around the room and discovered his twin watching him from the balcony. "Have you had no rest at all this night?"

"No, but it is of no matter. I slept well enough the previous night," Elrohir explained as he straightened up and moved to join his brother inside, "And we are elves, after all, such an inconsequential thing as a sleepless night is not much of a problem for us."

"I suppose not," Elladan mumbled as he looked away and began nervously bouncing his fist against his hip. He _had_ been hoping to find Elrohir asleep, but as that was not the case he no longer knew what he was doing there. No doubt, his twin did not desire or have any need of his company. That was no longer a part of who they were now.

"I did not think that you would come," Elrohir said conversationally before the silence between them could become even more uncomfortable.

"Neither did I," Elladan replied with a weak chuckle. "I wasn't really planning to either. But..." he shrugged then and shook his head, "I don't know. It doesn't matter now anyway."

"It does," Elrohir sighed heavily as he took a step closer to Elladan, "But it won't change the future. The past has already set our course."

"No, it won't," Elladan murmured softly, the nearness of his twin slowly lulling him into a sense of fragile comfort. This was all that was left for them now, all that they were. Hesitantly, he reached up and slid his arms around his brother, drawing them both into a chill embrace. He lay his chin gently upon Elrohir's shoulder and smiled bitterly as he felt his brother return the gesture. "It will never be like this again for us, will it?"

"No, it will not," Elrohir smiled cheerlessly as he almost parroted his twin's earlier words. Closing his eyes wearily, he tightened his grasp as Elladan held onto him in nigh desperation. "It will not be like this ever again. This uncertainty _will_ pass, and either we will find our way, in the end, or it will be lost to us completely."

"It's something to hope for at least," Elladan muttered morosely, remembering those same helpless words from long ago. He couldn't quite believe them anymore, if he had ever believed them in the first place, but what else was there left to him?

"Time will tell the tale, Elladan," Elrohir sighed again, though this time more in mild contentment than anything else. Their embrace may have begun chilled, but Elladan's warmth was quite suddenly affording his twin an unexpected pleasure. He had been much too cold for far too long... and he should have come back much sooner. Maybe the majority of the grief he had caused could all have been avoided if he hadn't been such a stubborn fool. But he had wasted his chances, he could only hope now that Elladan did not waste his own.

---

Aragorn stifled a groan as he shouldered his packs and effusively thanked the Valar that Sam had _convinced_ Gandalf to allow the hobbit to bring his pony, Bill, along. Of course, the convincing had been more along the lines of out-arguing the old wizard -as unbelievable as that sounded-, but either way Aragorn was quite thankful for it. He hadn't been looking forward to trudging all the way from Rivendell to Mordor while carrying all of the supplies necessary for such a journey. Granted, it could be done. He _had_ tromped around a good deal of the northern lands of Middle-earth carrying all of his gear more than a few times when the situation called for it. But if that could be avoided, then he was all for whatever it took to do so. Horses, or in this case, ponies were such marvelous creatures at making life that much easier.

He gave the room a thorough once over, to make sure that he wasn't forgetting _anything_, before heading to the door. Aragorn reached for the latch, but hesitated at the last moment and turned around, leaning back against the bedroom door. This was his room. It had been his room for as long as he could remember. When he was small his mother had often been joined by Elrond and Elladan in sometimes futile attempts to put him to bed. They had watched over him, soothing away his fears when night terrors had him screaming awake at odd hours of the night. It was in this room where his human sicknesses and frequent bruises and scrapes had been tended; and it was here where they would come to when he was a teenager and attempt to entice him to dinner on the numerous occasions he would be holed up and sulking over something stupid.

This was his room. This was his home. He had often been absent from it the past few decades, but it continued to remain the same. But somehow... somehow Aragorn got the feeling that he wouldn't ever see it again, or that if he did it _would_ be different. Something was going to change soon, for better or worse, and then nothing would be the same ever again.

Aragorn shook his head, pushed off from the door and turned around, gripping the latch resolutely. This was foolishness. Even if everything changed, it would still be home to him as long as he held the memories of it in his heart. Only he could change that. He still hesitated though, giving the room one more long, doleful glance over his shoulder before pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway. There _was_ an end here, somehow he couldn't deny that. There was just something in the air that informed him of it, something that couldn't be ignored.

Sighing at his oncoming melancholy, Aragorn pulled the door closed behind him and with an almost palpable feel of finality headed down the hallway. He didn't get very far. Elladan and Arwen lay in wait for him at the first corner, bringing their 'little' brother to a rather abrupt halt.

"What are you two doing up here?" Aragorn asked as he eyed them both suspiciously. Both were poised and pleasant looking, but there was a frisson of tension below the surface that he doubted even one of the hobbits -who could be utterly oblivious at times- could miss.

"We were waiting for you, Estel," Arwen smiled brightly as she stepped forward, "We will not be attending the Fellowship's departure, thus we must make our farewells in our own time beforehand."

"Oh," Aragorn said dumbly and fidgeted. Why had he even asked? It _was_ kind of obvious now that he thought about it. They wouldn't want to watch as Elrohir left them behind again. Some things were just too painful to bear. "Well... uh..."

Arwen chuckled lightly as she reached up and cupped his cheeks, kissing him once upon each before leaning back slightly and gazing deep into his eyes. "This is one regret that shall always be with me," she murmured softly as she stroked her thumb along the edges of his beard, "Being gone from home for so long that I missed out on knowing my littlest brother."

"It is well, Arwen," Aragorn said comfortingly as he covered one of her hands with one of his own, "I am simply glad that I finally got the chance to meet you."

Arwen frowned, her eyes flickering over Aragorn's face as if she was search for something elusive. "I fear this is the last that we will ever see of each other," she whispered after a moment, slipping her hand from his grasp and laying it over his heart as she allowed the other to drop to her side. "Live well, Estel."

"Goodbye Arwen," Aragorn mumbled simply, his voice catching as he leaned down and placed a kiss upon her brow. "Find your peace."

Tears glimmered in her eyes as she smiled again and reached up to caress his cheek one last time. It was a regret full of grief, but it was one among many. There were too many of them now that could not be shed, too many that drove her to the sea. Nodding at last, Arwen stepped back, and with one final look, turned and headed back down the hallway, leaving Aragorn alone with Elladan.

Aragorn silently watched as she walked away and couldn't help but feel as if something infinitely precious was slipping through his fingers. He couldn't really explain why, or even how he knew, but somehow he just _knew_ that this, all of this, had never been meant to pass, had never been meant to be. But what had been meant to be, he couldn't say.

Elladan moved beside Aragorn while the ranger's attention was focused upon their sister and placed a steadying hand upon his brother's shoulder. "It will be well, Estel," he said softly in comfort.

"No," Aragorn shook his head sadly before shifting to face his elven brother, "No, I don't think that it will be. But I can hope, I'm good at that."

Elladan grinned at that, "Yes, I suppose you are." He took a step back and looked Aragorn over from head to toe before asking in a vague tone, "When did you grow up on me?"

Aragorn laughed outright as he answered, "When you were dragging me in and out of trouble, no doubt. I still have some scars left over from those years too if you need visual aids to help you remember."

Elladan sniffed scornfully in false offense, "_I_ did no such thing. I would never hurt my _baby_ brother. No, you did that _all_ on your own, you clumsy brat."

Aragorn snorted in abject disbelief as he reached over and yanked Elladan into a tight embrace. "A likely story."

"Mhmm," Elladan hummed in contentment as he rest his chin upon Aragorn's shoulder and closed his eyes. It had always been like this between them, even on the rare occasions when they fought. It had always been comfortable, always easy. He never had to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing around Estel, because he knew that even if he did he would always have the chance to make amends. There was fear, of course, whenever his human brother left home, fear that he would run into trouble -and usually did-, but it didn't crush Elladan's spirit. The ranger had always returned home without fail, even when it meant dragging a few injured limbs the entire way.

This was what he missed with Elrohir. But no, that wasn't quite right. It was something even more than this that he had lost when his twin had left him behind. Half of his soul was missing still and he couldn't figure out how to get it back.

Mentally shaking his head at his own self-pitying thoughts, Elladan abruptly shoved them into the back of his mind. This moment was not about himself or his twin, it was about Estel. He would not bog it down with thoughts of what had been lost so long ago. "Take care of yourself, Estel," Elladan said finally as he moved back, but retained a strong grip upon his brother's shoulders, "And I will see you again, hopefully, someday soon."

"Be well, Elladan," Aragorn mumbled around a heavy tongue and a tight throat. He would _not_ weep now. He wouldn't. He would be strong. _This_, at least, was not an end, not in the least. They _would_ meet again. "I'll look forward to the day when I will see you again."

---

The courtyard was bustling with activity by the time Aragorn arrived. Sam was still in the process of securing packs and supplies upon a rather uninterested looking Bill. The pony flicked an ear at the ranger as Aragorn passed several of his own packs over to Sam, who grumbled good-naturedly about all the stuff getting piled up on his pony but accepted them nonetheless. Frodo, who hovered nearby, gave a muted nod of greeting. Merry and Pippin were clustered around Boromir, who was regaling them about something or other but would occasionally look up and share a rather chill glare with Elrohir. That didn't look promising. Aragorn couldn't help but do a double-take upon his first glance at the elf's attire. Save for the ears and the almost imperceptible elven glow -which he was probably the only one in the company who would notice-, Elrohir could have easily passed for one of the band of rangers Aragorn typically traveled with. He... didn't know what to make of that. It was certainly _different_.

Gandalf, meanwhile, stood closer to the main doors to the Last Homely House, having what appeared to be something of an animated chat with a rather unaffected looking Elrond. Glorfindel and Erestor stood off to the side watching the proceedings with bored interest. Aragorn briefly wondered if his father had gotten the wizard back yet for the _prank_. Probably not, since Gandalf didn't look anywhere near as discomfited as he would have been otherwise.

Aragorn was about to join his father and the wizard, but was stopped when the Seneschal and Chief Advisor broke off their observation of their lord and the Istar in favor of harassing him. Glorfindel smiled in good cheer as they drew near and quipped, "Well Estel, you will soon be departing our company on yet another Valar forsaken journey."

"Where you will no doubt get yourself half-killed in yet another one of those stupid stunts that you seem so eager to pull," Erestor finished blandly for his golden-haired friend. They both shared a similar put upon expression before the advisor thrust a small, somewhat hefty seeming, satchel into Aragorn's arms.

"Three bottles of miruvor ought to get you to Mordor and back in one piece, if not completely whole," Glorfindel explained as Aragorn glared at them both in annoyance.

"And if not," Erestor shrugged, giving off the disaffected air of someone who would wash their hands clean of the whole affair if Aragorn's luck turned for naught, "Then there really is no hope for you after all."

"I'll do my best," Aragorn grumbled in exasperation, barely keeping his balance as Glorfindel clapped him heartily on the back.

"Be careful, Estel," Erestor cautioned, all mannerisms of non-caring shed from him for the moment, "And be wary of Mithrandir's counsel. The wizard may indeed be wise, but in tenuous situations he is just like the rest of us. He too can die. Heed his words, but do not let them override your own minimal sense of self-preservation."

Aragorn blinked in surprise, but nodded his understanding and was rewarded by a soft smile from the usually dour advisor. Glorfindel gave him one more pat on the back, this one much gentler than the last, before steering his fellow elf back towards the main hall of the Last Homely House. The ribbing and snipes from them had become their usual send off for him over the years. They never said an outright farewell to him and probably never would, it was as if they ignored the very concept of such a thing altogether. Not that he minded, he rather looked forward to a bit of humor -even if it was at his own expense- before heading off on a long journey.

Shaking his head, Aragorn continued on his original course and soon stepped surreptitiously up besides his father as Gandalf apparently wound down on whatever point he was trying to make. Elrond spared his son a rather bored seeming look before returning his attention to the wizard.

"So really, there's nothing at all to worry about," Gandalf said reassuringly, though the hard grip he maintained upon his staff belied his tone, "Even if the worst comes to pass, things should still run smoothly enough."

"Of course they will," Elrond responded blandly while his expression grew even more bored looking, if that were even possible.

"Yet you do not seem to be very convinced," Gandalf alleged carefully. The elf lord's behavior was setting off more than a few warning bells, but he wasn't quite sure what it was leading up to. He had been, surprisingly, unmolested the past few days, which _was_ very surprising considering what he had done to Elrond's study door. The other shoe had yet to drop and that made him more than a little nervous.

"Oh, it is not that," Elrond smiled pleasantly, though it did have an edge to it, "I am simply distracted."

"Distracted," Gandalf repeated slowly and frowned. That wasn't the answer he had been expecting, not in the least. Had something else happened without his knowing? "Distracted by what?"

"Why, by the many conversations we shall be having in the future," Elrond replied, his eyes widening slightly as if his answer was the most obvious thing ever, "You know of what I speak, the many, _long_ discussions that we shall be having about suicidal wizards who place foolish curses upon the doors of unsuspecting elf lords."

"Right, of course, silly me," Gandalf grumbled as he tipped his hat at the oh so very innocent looking elf lord in question and whirled around, "I'll be sure to find a bottomless pit to fall down on the way back."

"You do that," Elrond called cheerfully after the retreating back of the disgruntled wizard. Content that he had the upper hand, for the moment, the elf turned his attention to his snickering human son. "Well?"

"You realize that he'll be spending all of his free time worrying about what you have in store for him?" Aragorn managed as he attempted and eventually succeeded in swallowing his laughter.

"Of course, that is half the point," Elrond explained as he reached up and fondly clasped Aragorn's shoulder. His good cheer faltered almost immediately as he studied the human he had taken in so long ago, the one who had easily become family to him in more than just name. After a few moments, Elrond's brows drew together in uncertainty as he hesitantly asked, "Will you return home after this journey, be it good or ill?"

"Of course," Aragorn said strongly in reassurance, shifting the satchel full of miruvor so that he could free up one hand. Reaching up, he softly clasped his fingers around his father's. "You need not ask."

"I do not know why," Elrond murmured, casting a weary glance over towards Elrohir before returning his attention to Aragorn, "But I feel that I must. I feel... as if fate is being rewritten even as we speak. Change is coming, a great many changes, and I fear that we may not even be able to recognize ourselves when it has all come to pass."

"Even so," Aragorn said soothingly, gently squeezing the elven fingers held within his own, "You will still be my father and this will still be my home."

Elrond smiled softly at Aragorn's words. "You are right, that cannot be changed. But I can't help but fear what may come." He shook his head, forestalling any further retorts and reassurances from his son. "Just be careful, Estel, and come back alive. Do not let this be our final farewell," he whispered sadly as he stepped forward and wrapped Aragorn in a comfortingly familiar embrace.

"It won't be," Aragorn vowed as he gazed out at the courtyard over his father's shoulder, his eyes unerringly falling upon his newest brother, who was watching them with an unfathomable expression. _Not for any of us_.

---

Elladan had never been one for lurking around in the gardens. Admittedly, the flowers were nice and he had a great deal of fond memories from playing around in them, but fond memories often caused more harm in their remembrance of late than comfort. The pain had begun after their mother's _rescue_ and had continued from there. After she had healed, though only in the physical sense, she had spent nearly every waking hour out in the gardens... hiding from them.

Twirling a small white flower between his fingers, Elladan leaned back against his mother's willow tree and glanced up into the hanging branches. It had not really been his mother's tree originally. In fact, it hadn't ever really been anyone's tree back then. His father had insisted that a willow tree be planted in this spot for one reason or another, much to the consternation of anyone with any sort of sense where plants were concerned. The location wasn't near any water, and in fact, the soil for this particular area was some of the driest in the valley. Yet, his father had insisted that the tree had to be right there and that it _had_ to be a willow tree. Some foreknowledge, Elladan supposed, had told his father that it would be needed but not the why of it.

The why for it, they had all eventually discovered, much to their despair. It was to this tree that Celebrian had retreated, and it was to this tree that they had come in the dark hours of twilight to try and bring her back home. Sometimes they had been successful, oft times they had not. She had forbore sleep in her anguish, dreading the terror that her dreams had visited upon her over and over again. She had stayed awake for days on end, huddled beneath her willow tree, barely touching the food that they had offered her. Only when her exhaustion had afforded her a dreamless sleep, an empty relief, had they been able to part their mother from her tree and take her within to her bed. But she did not stay there. She had not stayed.

He had not intended to come here, but Arwen had wished for him to accompany her while she checked over the bushes in this part of the gardens and he could not deny her. Nor could he remain by her side it seemed, for at the first opportunity given he had wandered off and eventually found his rest beneath his mother's tree. It was strange, really, for willow trees did not live so long. It was rare for them to even flourish for a century's time, yet this one had remained for nearly six hundred years. The power his father possessed could not have kept it alive for so long, not unless it had reason to stay. And perhaps that was the only explanation necessary. It had given his mother comfort when she had so desperately needed it, perhaps she had not been the only one meant to gain benefit from its presence. There may yet be someone else who would have need of it.

"You remind me of mother," Arwen said quietly as she kneeled down in front of him and dropped an armful of flowers into his lap. She smiled sadly as his gaze finally dropped from the tree branches and focused on her. "Have you returned now?"

Elladan tilted his head slightly in vague confusion. "I've been here the entire time, as you well know, sister, for I did not wander far from you."

Arwen snorted indelicately and shook her head. "You know that I did not mean that in the literal sense. And nay, you were not here, not in the least. You were somewhere else. A far distance from here, I'd wager. The past, perhaps."

Quirking up a corner of his mouth, Elladan looked down at the flowers covering his lap in varying shades of white, pinks and blues. "Possibly, but it is of no matter. I am here now and _you_ have been busy."

"Aye, quite busy indeed," Arwen agreed absently as she reached down and, after a moment's decision, selected a frilly little pale pink blossom with a long stem. Grinning impishly, she slid the stem behind one of her brother's ears then gently caressed his cheek. "Do you remember? Before she departed, mother put flowers in their room."

"I remember," Elladan nodded, his eyes clouding at the memory, "Father managed to keep them alive for years." Elrond _had_ used Vilya's power to do so, but Elladan wasn't fool enough to mention such in passing.

"I thought I might put some flowers in each of our rooms," Arwen murmured as she skirted her fingertips lightly down to his chin. "We will leave soon. You cannot remain like this for much longer."

Elladan sighed and closed his eyes, leaning ever more heavily against the tree trunk. He wanted to reassure her that everything was fine with him, but he just couldn't seem to muster the energy needed to do so. "I am just tired, Arwen. That is all."

"Of course you are." Arwen smiled weakly as he cracked one eye open and looked at her curiously. "Mirror images, Elladan," she explained, "You have both grown weary of the world. You are just the better liar."

Grunting noncommittally, Elladan allowed his eyelids to slide shut again and settled himself a little more comfortably back against the willow tree. He could argue semantics, but there really wasn't much point to it. Whatever hope he may have held onto for the past three centuries had finally departed, all that was left to him now was time. Ever dwindling time. But no, he couldn't give up just yet, he did wish to see Estel again. That desire wasn't much, but it would keep him going for a little while longer.

Elrond frowned as he watched his daughter attempt to comfort his eldest child down in the garden. He was not surprised at Elladan's lethargy. There had been too little hope to maintain his son for so long, and now even that had been lost to them. His children were fading before his eyes, already they were mere shadows of who they once had been. Estel's presence might have warded off the grief somewhat, but his youngest had his own life to live. To ask anything further of him would have been selfish and perhaps cruel. Thus, there was nothing left to be done. Elrond's only remaining hope was that Arwen would be able to get Elladan to the sea before the inevitable occurred.

Sighing dejectedly, Elrond drew back from the balcony and returned to his study. He gave Erestor a simple nod, an acknowledgement to continue upon what had been interrupted by his melancholy, as he seated himself wearily behind his desk.

"It is not necessary to go over these matters today, my lord," the Chief Advisor said carefully as he studied the elf lord in mounting concern, "They can be delayed a few more days."

"No," Elrond shook his head sadly as he laced his fingers together, "It is best to get it taken care of now. Time... we do not have much of. I, even less."

Erestor's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" Lord Elrond was not making much sense, but something told him that he would not like the answer to this particular query. The elf lord was much too subdued.

"Once Arwen and Elladan have departed, I will have a decision to consider upon," Elrond explained somberly as he leaned heavily back into the chair, the drooping slant of his shoulders mirroring his eldest son's. "One that will not be easy to make."

"And what might that be?" Erestor asked cautiously. He did not like the sound of this, there was a sense of doom permeating his lord's words, a doom that might be unavoidable.

"My own fate," Elrond answered simply as he closed his eyes. He was much too fatigued for such an early hour, but it was to be expected considering the emotional upheaval he had been forced to weather the past few months. "Should we survive what is to come, I will have a choice that I must make. I can either sail to Aman to join Celebrian and all who have gone before or I can remain, to fade and die."

"That is no choice at all, my lord," Erestor declared in growing alarm. That Lord Elrond would even consider the latter was shocking, to say the least.

"Ah, but it is," Elrond announced in resignation, crossing his ankles under the desk as he tried and failed to bury his despair, "As appealing as it may seem to join my beloved Celebrian, there is something else I must consider." Opening his eyes at last, he gazed up at the ceiling, as if he could delve through the stone and wood above, past the sunlight to what lay glittering beyond. "Father continues to sail the sea of stars, and mother plies the wind. Elros has joined his fate to that of his children, and I feel as if I must do the same. The only soul who roams the Halls of Mandos who can be considered close family in any sense of the word is the High King, Gil-Galad, and that is not enough."

Elrond lowered his gaze to Erestor then, causing the advisor to shift uneasily at the fell determination that shimmered within the depths of his eyes. "I do not wish for my son to dwell there alone, with none present whom he can truly call kin."

---

As if one suicidal elf wasn't enough... Eheh. Elladan and Elrohir's blacksmithing hobby and Celeborn's subsequent concern over it is actually a nod to Marnie's wonderful stories ('A Family Trait' in particular), which can easily be found here on ffnet.


	9. Moria: Distractions

**Perennial  
Moria - Distractions  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: Not much happens in this chapter, it's more of a placeholder to illustrate the Fellowship's interactions and setting things up for future events. There's actually a lot more foreshadowing in this chapter than you'd think.

Note #3: Last chapter I got a request (anonymous review) to explain Legolas' role further on in the story since I hinted that I wasn't done with him in the early chapters. Well, that's true, I'm not done with him yet, but frankly I'm not going to tell anybody what's going to happens. That defeats the purpose of telling a story. However, if you really want to spoil yourself, I do have a barebones outline of Perennial up on my writing lj (you can find a link to said lj on my profile). It is flocked though, thus you'll have to friend it so I'll know to friend you back. I really don't feel comfortable unflocking it since I'm constantly changing and adding stuff to it. Sorry!

Note #4: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

The string stretched taut as it was pulled back, the bow bending slowly under the power exerted upon it as the hunter took great measures to ensure that no sound was made, no warning given to his prey. The fletching brushed softly against his gloved fingers as Elrohir sighted the arrow and waited patiently for the proper time to strike. It did not take long. It never took long. Smiling grimly, he released the deadly shaft, but he did not pause to watch as the arrow struck his target. He did not need to. Instead he shouldered his bow and began to nimbly climb down from his perch high up in a tree. It was scant seconds before his feet touched the ground, and only a few more until Elrohir had scaled the ridge and kneeled down beside his prey's carcass.

Looking somewhat bored of the entire process, Elrohir yanked his arrow out from where it had been buried in the orc's throat and ran a critical eye over it. The shaft remained sturdy, no cracks had formed in the wood from its flight or the impact. Once it was cleaned of the black blood staining the tip it could be used again. Bending himself to said task, Elrohir paid scant attention to the dimming of the stars above or the light beginning to pinken the sky in the far east. However, once he had freed the arrow of taint and returned it to his quiver, Elrohir narrowed his eyes at the lightening horizon then scowled down at the corpse laid out at his feet.

The orc had been a scout -there was no doubt in his mind about that-, which meant that somewhere in the vicinity was a much larger party of the foul beasts. Orcs rarely if ever wandered around on their own without purpose, their craven natures required the strength afforded them in numbers. But he could not hunt them down just yet, he still had to finish his original task and make a short appearance to the _Fellowship_.

Sighing from the undesired constraints, the elf straightened from his crouch, made his way back down off of the ridge and headed back the way he had come. He kept his eyes glued to the treetops as he went, searching for that which did not belong. His scrutiny was thorough, but he found naught but the normal stirrings of early morning life. His earlier reconnaissance, before stumbling across the orc's trail, had effectively cleared all malicious eyes from the path. _How disappointing_.

A tiny sliver of the sun was peeking over the horizon when Elrohir finally came across his fellow travelers and the spot they had chosen to rest for the day: a small, well enclosed clearing surrounded by thick, leaf heavy trees. The hobbits, unsurprisingly, were already sprawled out haphazardly on the ground, massaging their weary feet. By the looks of it, the little ones were still having a bit of trouble adjusting to the nightly treks that the wizard had foisted upon the Fellowship after their first good day's travel.

Aragorn was busying himself with lighting what would no doubt be as smokeless a campfire as possible. Boromir stood nearby, his arms crossed as he watched the ranger's actions with mild interest. Gimli was sitting off to the side, leaning against a tree as he puffed contentedly at his pipe. Mithrandir was seated next to the dwarf, his staff slanted comfortably against his shoulder as he puffed upon his own pipe. Elrohir couldn't help but wrinkle his nose up slightly in distaste at the scene. Where the younger races had come up with such a horrid and disgusting habit as smoking was beyond him.

The others paid little heed as he entered the clearing. They were all quite used to his abrupt comings and goings by now. It was only Boromir's wary gaze that followed him as he crossed over to the wizard, only the golden Gondorian's suspicious regard that watched him constantly. Elrohir resisted the urge to smirk his mounting mirth at the man's distrustful attention. To do so would only further incite Boromir's ire. Truly, he had lit a veritable blaze of displeasure on that day when he had questioned the loyalty of the Steward's firstborn son. But he would suffer it gladly, and with much amusement, as long as it kept the Gondorian from accosting Aragorn for Anduril or Frodo for the ring.

Elrohir could well see that Boromir's duties to the Fellowship conflicted with his duties to Gondor, or to be more precise, Denethor. It wasn't difficult to discern. The longer he could keep Boromir's thoughts and suspicions focused upon him, the longer the man would put off pondering upon said conflicts and what to do about them. And _that_ would prove to make the quest that much less stressful for his human brother. Such an arrangement should see to his own duties as far as _his_ family was concerned. It was _something_ that he could still do for them, at any rate.

Mithrandir did not look up at his approach, in fact, the wizard did not even acknowledge his presence. Elrohir's light amusement fizzled in the face of another one of the Istar's _games_. The Grey Pilgrim was constantly doing little irritating things like this in an attempt to make him interact more with the Fellowship. He did not mind when the others tried to speak with him, they were innocent enough -even Boromir-; but he refused to be forced into conversations he had no wish to be a part of by a conniving wizard who thought that he knew what was best.

Crossing his arms, Elrohir decided to wait the wizard out this time and perhaps beat him at his own game. If Mithrandir thought that he had more patience than an elf then he was going to be proven sorely mistaken.

Aragorn winced at the grey tinged promise of death and dismemberment being glared down at Gandalf. Really, it was getting to such a point where every time he bedded down for the day he would wonder whether he would find the mauled corpse of a wizard when he awoke. Sighing silently in exasperation, the ranger was about to rise and attempt to diffuse the situation when he was preempted by Boromir.

_As if matters couldn't get any worse_, Aragorn thought. He was well aware of the animosity the Gondorian held against his elven brother. It would have required him to be blind, deaf and dumb to not take notice of it -and even then he probably would have still caught on-. He just didn't know what the source of it was. It was possible that Boromir's distaste towards the elf was a hold over from Denethor, but that just didn't ring true in this case. The man got along splendidly with the hobbits and there was a good bit of companionable respect between Boromir and Gimli, so it was unlikely to be any of Denethor's prejudice shining through in his son. And if that wasn't the case, then what was it? Just what was _it_ that Boromir so disliked about Elrohir.

"You return... later than usual," Boromir drawled, fake concern woefully masking the outright suspicion in his voice. Crossing his arms, he unconsciously mirrored the elf's stance as he stepped up on the other side of the wizard.

Elrohir arched an eyebrow at the underlying tone in Boromir's words, but did not rise to the bait. At the moment, he'd much rather skin the wizard than the steward's heir. "One can never tell how long a hunt will last," the elf stated plainly, shrugging as if it were of no consequence.

"A hunt?" Boromir muttered dubiously as he raked Elrohir from head to toe with a pointed gaze. "I see no evidence of a hunt."

Narrowing his eyes at the man's presumption, Elrohir smothered the urge to strike him outright for the almost palpable insult, deciding instead upon a much more _satisfying_ way of answering the fool's question. "You misunderstand the nature of my prey," Elrohir retorted, a dangerous smile snaking its way across his lips as he reached behind his shoulder and drew his bow. His smile grew even more feral at Boromir's look of consternation as he yanked an arrow out of his quiver and swiftly notched the bow. He held his aim upon the Gondorian's chest, drawing the moment out for several seconds and allowing them all to think that he might just slay the man right then and there. Though, truly, it was only Aragorn and the hobbits who looked on aghast at the confrontation. Mithrandir and the dwarf seemed to not be bothered one whit by the happenings going on above them.

When he felt that his point was thoroughly being made to all and sundry -or at least those who were _paying_ attention-, Elrohir swiftly tilted his arms up and released his arrow into the trees above, not once taking his eyes from Boromir. A harsh squawk and the sound of flapping wings proceeded a black ball of oily feathers that plummeted to the ground afterwards, his arrow effectively skewering it down the middle.

Gandalf puffed once more on his pipe, blowing smoke between the two antagonists before he removed it and cheerfully commented, "You missed one."

Scowling as the reason for his ire this day returned to him full force, Elrohir glared hotly down at the wizard. "They multiply for every league that we take," the elf ground out, "Even I cannot see everything. Eventually, we will be found."

"What are they?" Pippin asked as he cautiously toed the feathered corpse that had been delivered into their midst.

"Looks like a plain old black bird to me," Merry muttered grumpily.

"A bird it is, but plain it is not," Gandalf explained heartily, his good cheer unquenched by the death that was still glaring down at him. "They are called Crebain, a breed of incredibly clever birds that originally hail from Dunland. Unfortunately, their intelligence attracted Saruman's attention and he has made spies out of them. They serve as his eyes in these lands."

Pippin jumped back from the bird, as if touching it or even being near it would give him away to the White Wizard. "Well, wha-," he stammered in unease as he glanced imploringly over at the wizard, "What do we do about them?"

"Exactly what we are doing, young master Took," Gandalf harrumphed as he took another pull upon his pipe, "We travel at night to avoid Saruman's most effective way of finding us. Unfortunately, the eyes of Mordor are more keen in the twilight hours, but they are a bit more obvious in what they do and thus much easier for our own scout to discover and eliminate." He waved his pipe pointedly at Elrohir as he finished his explanation.

"Is that what you've been doing all this time?" Frodo asked wonderingly as he looked up at the elf in growing admiration.

"Aye," Elrohir answered plainly, shifting uncomfortably under the hobbit's unwanted regard.

"Thank you for protecting us," Frodo beamed at Elrohir, his unexpected up welling of gratitude causing Sam to shyly smile up at the elf as well.

"It is nothing," Elrohir said hesitantly, completely and utterly unsure of how he should respond to Frodo's elation over him simply doing his duty to the Fellowship, a job that probably would have been terribly unsavory to the little hobbit, at the very least. He did not mind the killing, not in the least, but it was certainly not something that he thought the little ones should be doing much of -or know much of, to be perfectly honest-, if at all. It was not something he found worthy of praise either.

Shifting again uneasily, Elrohir opted, for the moment, to ignore the quandary that Frodo's profession of thanks was creating within him. He could deal with it later. Looking out across the camp, he noted Bill's dour put upon stance, even though the weight that the pony had borne had lessened day by day, and the fact that none had yet to start cooking the night's last meal. Their food stores were beginning to become a bit lean. Rectifying that would be a good enough excuse for him to depart their company again so soon.

"Since Boromir was _kind_ enough to bring up the subject," Elrohir said silkily as he turned and prepared to head back the way he had come, "I think I will go hunt up some fresh game for our _dear_ Fellowship."

"Take one of the others with you," Gandalf interjected before the elf could get very far.

Elrohir froze on the spot, not even deigning to glance back as he replied to the wizard's pronouncement with a pure edge of steel in his voice, "I do not need assistance in hunting for venison, Mithrandir."

"No doubt," Gandalf said nonchalantly as he leaned back and puffed on his pipe some more, "And you probably have no need of assistance in slaughtering the band of orcs that you killed the scout for up on that ridge. But take one of the others with you anyway."

A heavy pall of dreadful silence immediately descended upon the clearing following Gandalf's words. All eyes were on the elf, watching him with guarded curiosity or horrified fascination as they waited for his response. While Aragorn debated whether to try and intercept Elrohir should his brother attack the wizard or to just let it happen since Gandalf really _was_ asking for it, Elrohir finally looked back and glared unadulterated death at the Grey Pilgrim.

Though he put off an air of complete unconcern at the obvious threat, Gandalf _did_ tighten his grip on his staff somewhat. He wasn't entirely stupid, he knew that he was practically taking his life into his own hands every time he prodded at, cajoled, or flat out annoyed Elrohir into doing something. If he managed to push Elrohir too far one of these days he was at least quite familiar with the twin arts of duck and run.

Elrohir narrowed his eyes after several moments, then flicked his gaze over at the dwarf sitting motionless beside the wizard. "Gimli," he growled out, "Fetch your axe."

Gimli inhaled sharply, hacking almost immediately on the strong pull of smoke he dragged out of his pipe. Yanking it out of his mouth, he beat upon his chest with his free hand while he lumbered to his feet. "Aye," he wheezed, "Just a moment."

At any other time, Gimli, son of Gloin, would have taken offense at such a rough command. If it were any other elf, he _would_ have taken mortal offense. But this was Elrohir, he who was known as the Orc Bane, and Gimli had to admit to himself that he was curious. He had grown up hearing tales about the Orc Bane, even his _father_ had grown up on such tales. Tales that told of an elf whose single goal in life, it seemed, was annihilating every foul creature that roamed the lands of Middle-earth. A truly admirable pursuit, especially for a being from such an unsavory race. However, after having watched the subject of such tales the past week or so, he was... puzzled by the reality presented to him.

Here was an elf who did none of the frivolous things that Gimli had been told that elves were wont to do. Elrohir did not sing. He did not dance. He did not even skip. He did not smile, at least not a genuine smile. He did not laugh. He did not chatter with any of them. He took no joy in their surroundings. In fact, he did not seem to enjoy anything at all. He comported himself as a warrior true, but even further, it did not take a genius to note that the elf was in fact a pure predator. He killed with precision. There was no waste of movement in his actions, even the pause during his confrontation with Boromir had been expertly gauged to make his point rather than actual hesitation.

Truly, he was admirable, for an elf, in every way... and so very utterly wrong at the same time. What possibly could have happened to turn an elf into _this_? Therein lay the source of Gimli's curiosity and the reason why he would not take umbrage at Elrohir's order. Mayhap a little shared mayhem would answer a few questions, or open up a small area for conversation at the very least. Besides, he hadn't killed any orcs in awhile and his hands were starting to itch from the lack.

Aragorn frowned as he watched his brother stalk out of the clearing, swiftly followed by an overeager looking dwarf. Well, at least Gimli would be happy afterwards. But... why had Elrohir not asked for Aragorn to accompany him? Surely the company, forced or not, of family would have been more appealing. Or was that the problem? Elrohir _had_ effectively shut all of his family out of his life, was he going to start doing the same now to Aragorn? That possibility did not sit very well with the ranger, not one bit.

Pippin plopped down beside Frodo, who was still staring at the place where the elf and dwarf had ghosted off into the forest, while Merry scooted over, forming something of an askew huddle of hobbits and pony. Sam rolled his eyes as Merry leaned forward, a gleam that usually meant trouble glittering in his own eyes. "There's just something wrong with that elf," Merry hissed quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the men nearby.

Pippin nodded in agreement, "Aye, he makes my skin crawl whenever he's around. I'm always afraid that he's going to gut me in my sleep."

Sam snorted as he bent back to the task of checking out all of his cooking gear. Mr. Strider was an excellent cook, all things considered, but they were still Sam's pots and pans. He checked to make sure there was absolutely nothing wrong with them before handing them over to whoever was the designated cook for the day -and did the same when they were returned-. Said duty usually ended up being his, Mr. Frodo's or Mr. Strider's. The others weren't very good at it, Gandalf's cooking abilities being the worst -utterly appalling, how the wizard had survived this long was beyond him-. Elrohir was rarely around enough to be stuck with the chore, and Boromir and Gimli tended to burn things more than actually cook them. Merry and Pippin, on the other hand, were just hopeless at everything. He wouldn't trust them anywhere near Mr. Frodo's food, much less his own.

"Gandalf maybe," he piped up before the other two could elaborate further upon their distaste for the elf, "If that old man keeps on pushing and pushing him, eventually he's gonna snap. Any half-wit could see that."

"Yeah, but will he stop there?" Merry groused in annoyance. Sam's blase attitude about the whole affair was irritating him. "Personally, I don't think he will."

"Boromir seems to think he's dangerous," Pippin murmured softly, stealing a quick glance at the Gondorian before exchanging a speculative look with Merry. "And well, Elrohir does seem kind of scary. Are you sure you're not just letting your interest in elves blind you to the obvious, Sam?"

Grinding his teeth together, Sam glared hotly up at the two guileless hobbits sitting across from him. He restrained himself, barely, from beating their heads in with one of his pans. Did they _have_ to be so insulting? It was true that he was fascinated with the elven race, and Elrohir was the only one around, but that didn't mean Sam turned into a lack-wit whenever he _was_ nearby.

Sam was about to deliver a blistering verbal slap to the two idiots, when he was abruptly cut off by a dreamy voice coming from their, until now, silent companion, "I think it's rather sad."

All three hobbits blinked and then looked blankly at Frodo. The ring-bearer didn't seem to be paying them much heed, instead he was still watching the place Elrohir and Gimli had left through. Much to his consternation, Sam noticed that Frodo was -and probably had been for awhile now- stroking the place on his chest where the ring must have hung underneath his clothes.

Sam didn't like that ring, nor did he like the way Mr. Frodo seemed to lose himself in regards to said ring. It just wasn't healthy. The sooner it got thrown into that Mount Doom the better, he thought. "What do you mean, Mr. Frodo?"

"Elrohir," Frodo murmured as he continued to brush his fingers over the ring's outline in his shirt, his eyes still glued to that one spot, "He's very sad, don't you think?"

"Sad isn't the word I'd use," Pippin said in disbelief.

Merry eyed Frodo up and down as if their fellow hobbit had sprouted a second head that they were just now noticing. He glanced at Pippin, his lips twisting dubiously before looking back at Frodo. "Frodo," he began warily as if he were unsure of their friend's reaction, "Did you happen to smoke any bad leaves recently?"

Frodo's hand stopped in mid-stroke as he whipped his head around and speared Merry with a frosty glare that easily answered _that_ particular question.

---

It was quick work to track the meandering path the orc scout had unwittingly taken to its untimely demise, though perhaps not as fast as Elrohir would have liked thanks to his unwanted dwarven companion. The small delays rankled him slightly, but he had not visited his annoyance upon Gimli. It was not the dwarf's fault that the Grey Wizard was a meddling blight upon the face of Arda. And besides, it hadn't taken too much longer to locate the shallow cave the orcs had holed themselves up in for the day, even less time to rid Middle-earth of some of the scum polluting it.

Arrows had taken care of the guards on watch, then sword and axe had dealt with the rest. Fourteen orcs in all, if one counted the scout, not a large party, but a significant number all the same, especially this far down off the Misty Mountains. They usually did not roam so far away from their known bolt holes. Mordor was getting anxious it seemed, and that made Elrohir wary. He'd have to be even more observant from now on. It wouldn't do for the Fellowship to stumble across this type of surprise again.

"Now that hit the spot," Gimli crowed in exultation as he lovingly wiped the black blood off the blades of his axe, "Nothing like some good old fashioned orc death to get the juices flowing."

"I suppose," Elrohir hummed noncommittally, only lending half an ear to the dwarf's banter as he busied himself with tending to his own sword. Orc blood was a familiar adornment upon the blade, and cleaning it off was such an ingrained task that he didn't really have to even think about it anymore, but he still took care when doing so. It would be foolishness personified to grow careless, even at this late a date.

Gimli eyed Elrohir speculatively, his brows drawing together as he pondered over what exactly to call the elf in conversation. He could go with plain 'Elrohir', he doubted the elf would take offense since he had been using _his_ name all this time, but Gimli couldn't quite bring himself to do so. In his mind's eye, to call him 'Elrohir' implied that they were friends, or at the very least familiar acquaintances, and that just wasn't the case. Elrohir was an intriguing enigma to him. He wanted to know more about him, not get buddy buddy with him -he was an elf in the end, after all-. And calling the elf the Orc Bane would just be ridiculous. That was the name of a tall tale, no matter how factual it may actually prove to be. It wasn't the name of a person. No, he would just have to settle for something simpler for the moment. "Master elf," he said experimentally, and after deciding that it would work for now, he continued, "Did you happen to make a tally of how many orcs fell beneath your hands?"

Elrohir blinked curiously at that query, but did not look up from his given task, "Nay, the number of kills does not interest me much. Just so long as they die, I am... _content_."

Gimli arched a bushy eyebrow at Elrohir's hesitation on 'content' but refrained from commenting, for now. He didn't want to make the elf feel that he needed to be defensive, that wouldn't serve his purpose at all. If Elrohir grew overly cautious of him then he wouldn't be able to figure anything out. Sighing, he glanced around the cave and frowned at the corpses littering the ground. "It's a shame that such a nice little windfall should be fouled by these creatures. It deserves more appreciation than that, all caves do. That they have become the favored hideyholes of Mordor scum is truly lamentable."

"As you say," Elrohir chuckled bleakly as he finished up and sheathed his sword, "Personally, I do not care much for them."

"Really?" Gimli remarked glibly, his curiosity shining through for the moment, "I _had_ heard that elves did not think much of the beauties crafted by stone, earth and time. I had also heard that some even... feared them." He peered closely at Elrohir as he spoke, hoping to catch some sort of telling reaction to his words.

Shaking his head, Elrohir raised his eyes to meet the dwarf's and smiled tightly, "It is true, there are some who find your beloved caves quite disturbing, but it is not that." He paused then and looked up at the jagged rock ceiling, his eyes misting over with something, some clouded remembrance, that sent a chilling shiver running up Gimli's spine. There was a hopelessness in that look, one the dwarf had never experience before, and probably never would again. "They simply bring old memories to the fore," Elrohir explained softly, "Memories of things that should never have been."


	10. Moria: In Transit

**Perennial  
Moria - In Transit  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: You know, I kept going on and on about how there would be no Elladan, and thus no Arwen, until after I had gotten the Fellowship through Moria. I ought to have known better, because the instant I started writing the previous chapter a nice, evil idea involving those two popped up. And well, I'm just gonna run with it and we'll see where it goes.

Note #3: The next chapter will be a bit delayed, I can tell you already. I'm going out of town, and definitely out of touch, for my birthday next weekend. But I'll do my best to get it out as soon as possible anyway.

Note #4: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

It was by pure chance alone that Elrohir was within the company of the Fellowship the morning that their luck finally ran out. It had begun much like any other morning since they had set out from Rivendell. Once light had started to touch the sky Aragorn had scouted out a secluded spot for them to stop and rest for the day. Elrohir had joined them for the last meal of the night, as he usually did -which was probably more of show that he could still be counted among the living than for actual sustenance-. However, after the meal was done, instead of departing from them once more to go off in search of more crebain or other _things_ in need of slaying as was his wont, Elrohir had lingered. Perhaps a premonition of some kind had stayed his flight from the interaction he had no wish for, or perhaps it was simply pique. Whatever the cause may have been, he was on hand when a massive flock of crebain descended from the overcast sky, catching the camp almost unaware.

The elf's reaction was instantaneous. In less time than it took to blink, his bow was out and his arrows were whistling through the air with uncanny precision, each deadly projectile bringing down one of the raucous birds, sometimes more than that. Aragorn joined his own bow to his brother's, shooting down Saruman's spies just as efficiently, but he soon recognized the futility of it. Several of the birds were already winging their way south while the remains of the flock shielded them from the Fellowship's reprisal. "There are too many," Aragorn proclaimed through gritted teeth. His arrows were dwindling fast.

"And they are too far," Elrohir appended as he halted his assault and gestured for Aragorn to do the same. He had no wish for them to waste more arrows in such a pointless endeavor. The last remaining crebain squawked indignantly at the group before taking flight after their brethren. And when the birds were at last just dwindling specks upon the horizon he turned his attention to the discomfited wizard in their midst. "We have been found."

"So it would seem," Boromir grumbled cynically as he crossed his arms and glanced at the Istar standing beside him. "What now, Wise One?"

Gandalf glared darkly at the Gondorian, but before he could come up with some scathing retort or other a higher pitched voice piped up from around their waist level. "How did they sneak up on us?"

The wizard, men, elf and dwarf blinked in puzzlement at each other before looking down at the startled young Took clutching at Gandalf's grey robes, who seemed quite unaware of just what he was doing. "That's a good question, Pippin," Aragorn muttered as he rubbed at his chin in curiosity and cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

Elrohir shook his head at the obvious question, "I did not sense them."

"Nor I," Gandalf remarked as he began scratching at his beard in thought. "I fear 'tis Saruman's doing. He was well aware that we would take pains to avoid discovery and so devised a way around our vigilance. I suppose I should have expected it."

"_We_ will be expected," Elrohir pointed out, more for the benefit of the others than Mithrandir's. He well knew that the wizard was already going through contingency plans, discarding most and considering others. Elrohir may have disliked the Grey Pilgrim a _great_ deal of late -and the dislike was well earned-, but he also knew that the wizard wasn't a complete fool. When matters were at their worst, the Istar's true nature shone through well, he could think fast on his feet.

"Aye," Gandalf mumbled distractedly as he continued to scratch at his beard, "Now that we have been spotted Saruman will be able to plan ambushes most effectively."

"We will not make it through the Gap if that is the case," Aragorn announced dispiritedly and sighed. If they could not make the Gap of Rohan then they would have to find some means to cross the Misty Mountain, a truly daunting task at the best of times, winter being one of the worst.

"No, that path is closed to us now," Gandalf commented dryly, his fingers ceasing their unconscious scratching as he came to a decision. "We will have to take the Redhorn Pass."

Silence stretched between the party as those who _knew_ just exactly what it was that the wizard was suggesting and what it would entail tried to find their voices. Elrohir succeeded first. "In the winter?" he asked slowly, only a tinge of cool bewilderment evident in his tone.

"Are you mad?" Aragorn burst out in disbelief an instant after his brother's query. He eyed the wizard speculatively, wondering whether the old one had really lost his marbles as evidenced of late by his constant suicidal seeming prodding of Elrohir and now by making a suggestion only a mad man could.

"He must be," Gimli declared hotly, his eyes wide in shock. "Even in the calmest weather Caradhras has been known to chew travelers up and spit them out! In winter? We'll be buried so deep in snow that they'll never find us!"

"And yet that is where we must go," Gandalf said cheekily, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gimli, already perturbed by the mention of that evil mountain, scowled darkly and breathed in deep in preparation for blasting the wizard for his insanity.

"Perhaps that is the point, Gimli," Frodo offered shyly, causing the dwarf to sputter somewhat at the interruption. "Is that not what we are trying to do? To keep from being discovered?"

"Well, yes," Gimli groused weakly, his indignation at the wizard's foolishness petering out to mild annoyance under the ring-bearer's well meaning, if uninformed, interference. Of course the little hobbit wouldn't want to see him let the wizard have it, but Frodo did not know of the Redhorn's treachery quite so well as a dwarf did. "But arranging it so that even our bodies won't be found is a bit much."

"Why Gimli, such pessimism is unbecoming of the Son of Gloin," Gandalf crowed cheerfully as he started patting himself down in search of his pipe. Noting Pippin's hands still wrapped up in his robes, he gave the young Took a comforting tap on the head before resuming his search. "Do not worry, we will be perfectly fine."

Gimli puffed his cheeks out in pure agitation, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. If Elrohir wished to murder the Istar anytime in the foreseeable future he would happily cheer the elf on, mayhap even join in. The damnable wizard was going to manipulate them all into an early grave.

_Caradhras_. Gimli shivered at the very name. That mountain had little love for any seeking a path upon its slopes or beneath its shadow, but it saved its greatest ire for those who haled from the older races: dwarves and elves, to be specific. And the Fellowship was going to try the Redhorn Pass with one of each in tow. They were all utterly doomed.

"Are you sure that another path might not be more expedient?" Gimli tried one last time, knowing that he would be ignored but unable to stay his tongue. "Surely Moria would be more welcoming than a bloodthirsty mountain?"

---

It was the silence, Arwen concluded, it was her brother's silence that was bothering her the most. Admittedly, Elladan had not been one to talk your ears off even before _everything_, much less afterwards, but this new lassitude that he had descended into was worrisome. He had not spoken one word of his own volition since they had departed from Imladris several days past. It was only when he was plied with a query or some such that he would speak, and then only as few words as were necessary to answer properly. At all other times his eyes were downcast and clouded with what she could only surmise were truly dark thoughts. He did not even seem to be altogether there, for it was Brego who guided his own path, walking beside his fellow equines during the day, stopping with the others and giving little jolts to his rider when it was time for Elladan to dismount.

At least, in this, Elrohir had provided some means of comfort for his twin. The Mearas, for there could be no mistake in the breed of such a remarkable mount, practically doted upon her brother. Whenever it seemed that Elladan would draw even further into himself and away from them, Brego would nudge him or tug on his hair until her brother would at least acknowledge him with an annoyed swat. And at night, when they would bed down to rest until the dawn hours, Brego would take up sentinel, watching over Elladan the whole night through until, at last, the elf would begin to rouse shortly before morning light.

But even so, Elladan did not seem to be with them much in spirit. The Galadhrim were terribly uneasy thanks to his distressing demeanor. Several had known him before, and had counted themselves friends of the twins, or at the very least, good acquaintances. But they did not know _this_ Elladan, thus they did not know how to act towards him. Though judging by their shared concern, they too wished to draw him out of his shell, but simply did not know how to. And Rumil, dear, sweet Rumil, was beside himself on how to deal with his old friend. The young warden had been anxiety personified ever since he had been given the task of escorting her to Mithlond, and it had only worsened with the addition of Elladan to the party. Arwen was beginning to fear that he might suffer something of a breakdown even before they reached their destination.

Arwen sighed, she wasn't going to solve anything just by thinking about it. Nodding decisively, she nudged Roheryn closer to Brego and called out softly, "Elladan?" She frowned when a response was not forthcoming and tried again, "Elladan! Elladan, wake up."

In the end, it was not his sister's prodding which dragged Elladan back to reality. Instead it took a sharp shake from Brego to garner his attention, an action that had him gripping tightly at the horse's mane to keep from taking a tumble. "What do you think you're doing, you crazy beast?" he muttered grumpily, receiving only the flick of an equine ear for his trouble.

Arwen smothered a giggle, it would serve no purpose to get her brother's hackles up just yet and laughing at him would succeed in that. Brego was certainly a gift of the Valar, though, in the way he managed to get _some_ kind of reaction out of his rider. Had Elladan's mount been one bred by the elves, it probably would have been just as flabbergasted on how to deal with her brother as the Galadhrim were, and that would have made matters quite unbearable.

"He was waking you as a courtesy to me," Arwen said merrily, unable to resist the tiny grin curling at her lips thanks to the twin's annoyance, "I have been trying to catch your attention, Elladan, yet you have paid me no heed."

"Oh," Elladan mumbled, leveling one more glare at the evil horse he had been saddled with before glancing warily at his sister from the corner of his eye. What could Arwen possibly want of him? Surely she could sense that he wasn't up to having a conversation at this particular point in time. "What is it?"

Arwen rolled her eyes at Elladan's palpable suspicion. Apparently, this was not going to be easy, not that she was really surprised. Her family did have a very _large_ streak of mule-headedness where their own health was concerned, physical or otherwise. And, naturally, they were at their worst when their pain originated from an emotional level, and perhaps sometimes even spiritual. Arwen was somewhat embarrassed to admit that she herself could turn into an outright snarly dragon if somebody poked at her when she didn't feel like _talking about it_. But this was Elladan, her older brother, and he was worrying her; so he was going to talk to her one way or another.

"I wanted to talk to you," Arwen explained disdainfully, as if her answer was the most obvious thing in the world. _Which, really, it was_. "You've been moping ever since we left Imladris. You've barely said a word to anyone, you eat only when prodded to do so and frankly, I'm not even sure that you actually rest at night. You weren't anywhere near this bad at home. What happened between here and there that has made you so withdrawn?"

"It is nothing," Elladan sighed wearily, "I am simply tired."

"Yes, I know you are," Arwen snapped out, one delicate eyebrow arching in accusation, "But I also know that you are lying."

"Arwen," Elladan growled in warning, flicking his gaze over the Galadhrim surrounding them. He knew that the warriors of the Golden Wood could be the soul of discretion when a situation warranted it -especially with one of the three brothers breathing down their necks-, but all the same, he did _not_ want to have an all out row with his sister in their midst.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Arwen hissed out, her words barely audible over the clopping of the horses' hooves upon the road. Her fierce expression crumpled in misery when he refused to look back at her. "It grieves me to see you like this. Do you not know that?"

"There is nothing to tell," Elladan mumbled, flinching at the sorrow evident in his sister's voice.

"I do not believe that," Arwen murmured, shaking her head sadly at both of their stubborn streaks. "What is it, Elladan? What happened to make you so remote? Surely you are not lamenting our farewell to father..." She trailed off at the last, blinking in surprise when her brother fidgeted at her words. "That is it, isn't it, or at least part of it? Why?"

Elladan's shoulders drooped in defeat, a familiar stance for him of late. He had not wanted her to know of what he had witnessed, but now... it would be wrong for him not to tell her. "He wept, Arwen."

"Oh no, Elladan," Arwen exclaimed in disbelief, lowering her voice back to a whisper a moment later when she remembered where they were, "Surely not."

"It is the truth, I saw father earlier that morning," Elladan explained haltingly, "I wanted to speak with him, alone, about something before our departure and so I went to his study. And that's where I found him... weeping." Elladan breathed out shakily, his eyes pricking dangerously at the memory. "We are breaking his heart."

Arwen shook her head, not wishing to believe what her brother was telling her, but how could she not, he would not lie to her about something like _this_. And yet, it seemed so preposterous. Their father had shed no tears in front of them during their mother's ordeal, not wishing to add further pain to their torment. In fact, she did not think he had shed any at all at the time. And really, it had only been through the intervention of Mithrandir that Elrond had found an outlet for his own grief. The twins had not been the only ones who had gotten lost in their despair. The wizard had shown himself to be a true friend then, and many other times as well. The Peredhils owed him a great debt, even if he was one of the most annoying being in the whole of Arda.

Arwen sighed morosely, "If that is the case, then I shall pray that he will join us in Valinor as soon as he is able."

Elladan shook his head reluctantly in doubt. "I do not think he will. I don't think he will leave while Estel still lives, not if he has a choice. He will not abandon our brother, nor would I want him too." He frowned in confusion when Arwen started to squirm slightly at the mention of their human brother. "What?"

Arwen grimaced, she hadn't wanted to tell him of the fancy that had dogged her thoughts of late. It just seemed so _personal_. "Well, I had been thinking about that. And... I... uhm..."

"Arwen," Elladan said softly in warning, borrowing that particular tone of voice their father had used on them when they were elflings and in deep trouble.

His sister scowled at him before relenting, "It is nothing bad, Elladan. I have simply been planning to petition the Valar to allow Estel to, erm, join us. I mean, he is not like any of the others. He is family. Surely they would have no objections to his presence. They're letting _us_ in, after all, and besides I have no doubt that he would fit right in."

Elladan laughed helplessly and averted his gaze heavenward for several seconds. "I don't think that will work, Arwen. He is still human."

"So are we," Arwen rebuked gently, "Well, part of us anyway." A frown marred her face and she grew serious as she continued, "I do not believe that the other races are less worthy than the Firstborn. And I do not think they should be so summarily barred from Aman just because of the manner of their birth. Perhaps I am wrong, but I hope not, for I find Estel to be more worthy to grace the white shores of Valinor than even some elves."

Elladan stared in shocked surprise at his little sister. He had no idea that such notions had been twisting and turning their way around in her mind. Truly, Estel hadn't been the only one to grow up when he hadn't been watching. "You have given this much thought, I see."

Arwen blushed at her brother's underlying praise. "Well, to be truthful, I'm not being completely altruistic," she admitted candidly, "There is this feeling that I can't quite describe that has taken hold of me of late. A feeling that I, no, _we_ should not be parted from Estel. I do not know why, but it just seems wrong. Terribly wrong."

---

Sam grimaced, his nose scrunching up in disgust, as his foot sunk back past his ankle into the snow. They were just now reaching the outskirts of the Pass and the snowfall was already that deep. He dreaded to think of just how much worse it would get further in. He scowled as he glanced up at the massive peaks rising in the distance. Celebdil, the Silvertine, glimmered in the south, pure white from the ice and snow. And to the north, rising above the land like an enormous bloodied mass of frozen death stood Caradhas, the Redhorn. Sam could well see the reason for Mr. Gimli's reservations now, because that mountain definitely _looked_ evil to him too.

Shaking his head at the disturbing view, Sam returned his attention to the task at hand. Earlier that morning, before they had headed out, he had rearranged all of their supplies so that he could put some of the weatherproofed bags and satchels to a different use. The cutting hadn't exactly been easy, but it had gotten done. It was the sewing that was proving to be something of a problem. Punching holes through the hardy material with simple needle and thread was a supreme exercise in patience. Still, he had gotten the first one done -though it had taken longer than planned- and was nearing the completion of the second one. Hopefully, they would work as they were meant to.

He went flailing a moment later when his toes stubbed up against something uneven hidden beneath the snow. However, just before Sam would have gone sprawling out in that self-same snow, a strong hand gripped his shoulder steadying him. Blowing out a breath of relief at the averted disaster, Sam shyly looked up at the elf looming over him. "Thank you."

Elrohir blinked, his face devoid of expression as he made sure the hobbit's balance was stable before releasing his hold. "Think nothing of it," he said simply before returning to his place at the back of the group. It had been decided that he would take the last position during their trek through the Misty Mountains as he was more readily able to detect any form of pursuit before the others would have. The heightened senses of the elves did have their advantages, and he did not mind. Frodo and Sam were the only ones who tended to trail behind close enough for speech, and so far both had been somewhat preoccupied. Sam had been busy all morning constructing something that vaguely resembled shoes and Frodo had been bemusedly watching his progress for the duration. All in all, it had been a rather quiet morning.

"There, I think that's it now," Sam announced as he tied off the last stitch and bit off the excess thread. He poked the needle through the collar of his coat and then carefully studied both of the piecemeal _shoes_ he had created, then nodded decisively and trotted up beside Frodo. "Here, Mr. Frodo," he said as he offered the pair to his fellow hobbit, "Try these on."

"You know, Sam, proper hobbits don't wear shoes," Frodo commented blandly, fighting back an impish grin as he accepted the proffered objects.

"Proper hobbits don't go gallivanting over the Misty Mountains either," Sam grumbled good- naturedly, flushing slightly a second later when he realized that Frodo had been teasing him. "It just don't make no sense to freeze our feet off when we've got such a long way ahead of us yet to go."

"Of course, Sam," Frodo agreed as he fingered the material of the new _shoes_ dubiously. The fact that he could barely feel his toes after a few hours spent in the snow drove home the point that Sam's idea, while unorthodox, might be the best way to go. Leaning over, he carefully pulled the odd little things on one by one, wriggling his feet this way and that at the strange sensations the shoes caused. It felt quite curious for his feet to be bound thus, but it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, just different.

"Well, how are they, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked hesitantly in mounting apprehension. Surely he had sewn them right. It hadn't seemed like it would be a difficult task to fashion some hobbit size _shoes_ when he had started out, but that didn't mean anything. There was still the chance that he had messed up something somehow.

"They feel a little odd," Frodo offered as he wiggled his toes experimentally, "But I think they'll do all right, and... I think my feet feel a little warmer already."

"That's good then," Sam smiled in relief, "I was afraid I might have made them the wrong size or something."

"No no, they're perfect," Frodo declared cheerfully as he resumed treading up the slope after the rest of the Fellowship, shaking his head in amusement at the odd squelch of snow under his now covered feet.

"I guess I'll start working on some for myself then," Sam mumbled distractedly as he trailed after the ring-bearer.

Frodo grinned as something occurred to him. "Are you going to make any for Merry and Pippin?"

Sam scowled as he glared further up the path at the other two hobbits, who appeared to be involved in quite an intense conversation with Boromir, or at least an amusing one judging by the wild arm gestures and occasional laughter that drifted back down the slope. "I'll think about it," Sam conceded grudgingly after a few moments' thought then turned his attention back to his given task.

Another hour passed as Sam fashioned a pair of hobbit _shoes_ for himself out of the materials on hand. It went a bit faster now that he knew what he was doing, sort of, and what to expect. Soon enough his own feet were feeling quite a bit warmer than they had all morning, if a little bit _odd_. Still, as long as his feet didn't freeze or anything, he wasn't going to complain. Glancing up the path, the little gardener noted that Merry and Pippin were still chatting Boromir up about something or other, if looking a might bit cold. Well, making them some shoes wouldn't hurt none, and it would be something to do to pass the time. But perhaps a short break was in order, his fingers were starting to feel a little stiff from all the tight work they'd been doing. Yes, a break would do him good.

Smiling happily at his decision, Sam looked around at the group ahead, noting the hunched stances of all. Trudging through snow was tiring to begin with, but having to walk uphill in it at the same time was swiftly wearing the Fellowship down. Hopefully, they would stop for lunch soon enough and rest up a bit. Exhaustion could be dangerous in this type of weather, as any experienced traveler -or intelligent hobbit, in this case- knew.

_And we're going to be in this weather the entire way over the mountains, I do not doubt_. Sam shook his head in consternation at that particular thought. This trip was going to be the death of them, one way or another. Sighing, he glanced back, checking to make sure that their elven companion was still present and accounted for. Elrohir could, and tended to be, dreadfully silent in most everything that he did. In fact, it usually took the elf speaking up, a rare occurrence indeed, to know that he was even around.

Sam smiled bashfully as Elrohir arched an eyebrow curiously at the hobbit's cursory inspection, but did not question the why of it. If Sam wished to speak with him about something, then of course he would answer, but he had no real desire to initiate a conversation with the hobbit. He just didn't care much for talking.

"Mr. Elrohir?" Sam began hesitantly, noticing for the first time something rather _odd_ that the elf seemed to be doing.

"Elrohir, Sam, just Elrohir will do," the elf sighed wearily. The little hobbit's polite courtesy, while quite endearing, just didn't sound quite right to him. He had just been simple Elrohir for so long now that the addition of titles or honorifics were somewhat uncomfortable to the ear.

"Ah, right, Elrohir, sir," Sam attempted, his tongue tripping over the lack of a Mr. and not even realizing that he had still tacked on a 'sir' before he plowed onwards, "I hope my asking doesn't seem forward or anything, but how are you doing that?"

Elrohir blinked in startled confusion, vaguely observing that Frodo was now looking back at them both and watching the proceedings with curious interest. "Doing _what_ exactly, Sam?" Elrohir asked cautiously after a tense moment of silence.

"Walking on top of the snow, sir," Sam said by way of explanation.

"You're right!" Frodo gasped in amazement. He stared in awe as the elf's booted feet walked gracefully atop the snow with nary a sign left in their wake to tell that they had even been there. "I hadn't noticed that at all."

"It is just something that elves do naturally," Elrohir responded simply, shrugging helplessly under the combined scrutiny of the two surprised hobbits.

"All elves can do that?" Sam mumbled in astonishment, his eyes widening as he continued to watch Elrohir's steps. "But how?"

"Yes, they can," Elrohir answered as he thought of how best to explain the _how_ of something he had never really thought much about before. "I suppose it is just part of our nature."

"Really?" Frodo murmured, his eyes shining with avid curiosity.

"Elves are called the _People of the Stars_," Elrohir offered tentatively, frowning inwardly at having the two hobbits' attention glued directly upon him. "And some believe that we were created from starlight, thus, I suppose it stands to reason that we would not weigh down something that also came from the sky." It might not be correct, but at least it sounded... plausible?

"Remarkable," Frodo breathed in wonder and turned to look at Sam.

"Well I'll be," Sam muttered in fascination, "Can you believe that, Mr. Frodo?"

"Uncle Bilbo never said anything about this," Frodo said in bafflement, "I wonder if he knew."

Elrohir sighed in relief as the two started chattering back and forth over this new revelation about the elves and hoped fervently that it would be awhile yet before they realized that he was not, in fact, participating in their discussion. He grimaced mildly, glancing up at the overcast sky as the mention of starlight reminded him of his centuries long search for one star in particular, one that still remained elusive. _Where was it?_

_I could fix that for you._

Elrohir halted in mid-step as the sibilant, alien whisper wound its way through his thoughts, scouring the snow from his mind's eye and replacing it with a blasted landscape of cracked earth and black rock. He stared around himself in stark surprise at the jarring aberration. _This_ had never happened before. _What is-_, he began, but fell silent as he looked back and saw what, or who, was standing behind him. Shock ran like ice water through his veins, stealing his breath and freezing him in place.

_Is this the one whom you are missing?_ The apparition asked cheerfully as it looked itself over. Its grey-tinged blue eyes twinkled in ill-concealed mirth; and its golden hair shimmered with an uncanny mithril bright glimmer in the enfolding darkness. There was no mistaking the form, but what it housed was another matter altogether. _I can fix this,_ it spoke again as it turned its intent gaze back upon him, _I can fix a great many things. I can bring him back. I can heal the wounds that have shattered your family. I can wipe every orc off the face of the planet. And whatever else you may desire, it can be yours. All you have to do... is take me. Not hard at all._

Elrohir shook his head in horrified disbelief. _You cannot bring the dead back to life._

_Perhaps,_ the Ring, for it could be nothing else, murmured silkily, _Perhaps not. You'll never know if you don't try._

_The answer is no. I do not want you,_ Elrohir said stonily, his eyes narrowing as a thread of fury started uncoiling deep within him. That the cursed thing would use the face of a dearly missed friend to try and beguile him into taking it for himself was infuriating. But before the anger could consume the elf, he realized that for _it_ to materialize as such must mean that the Ring was starting to get a little desperate. _That_ was enough to calm his temper, and with it in mind, he couldn't help but smirk. _Good try though, but it won't work._

_You say no now,_ the Ring singsonged as it wagged a finger at him, almost as if it were scolding Elrohir, much like a parent to a disobedient child, _But we'll see how long that lasts. You can't deny that the possibility intrigues you._

Elrohir did not deign to reply as the vision faded from his mind, freeing his sight of the darkness and returning him abruptly to the brightness of the snow. He shook his head sharply in mounting annoyance before he went about dislodging the remaining shadows the Ring had left behind in his thoughts. Feeling a far less sinister mental poke, he glanced up the haphazard column of the Fellowship, his eyes catching the concerned gaze of the wizard. He scowled at the concern, but nodded in confirmation at the unspoken question. Mithrandir grimaced, but nodded back reluctantly in acknowledgement.

The Ring was beginning to make overtures.


	11. Moria: Discoveries

**Perennial  
Moria - Discoveries  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: Okay, so this chapter is really, really late. My apologies. I could go into a long drawn out explanation of why, but I'll spare everyone the particulars. Suffice it to say that February has been rather hellish for me.

Note #3: This is the first chapter where I needed to name an extraneous character, and as I suck at such, I latched onto the first name that mildly appealed to me. Hopefully, it doesn't sound too stupid.

Note #4: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

The Fellowship had scant warning before the blizzard hit the pass, only the barest of shifts in the wind alerted their elven companion in time for them to seek out shelter. Even so, the shelter that had been found left much to be desired. An old tumble of rocks, that had perhaps been there for centuries judging by their weathered state, had been the only feasible place to camp, and then only in the vaguest of sense. The stones provided two walls at best and only the barest sliver for a roof, but it protected them from the worst of the winds and so they huddled together and waited. It proved to be a long one.

Gandalf blew into his left hand as he bent forward and tapped the end of his staff upon the head sized rock wedged in between Pippin and Gimli. Before the wind had truly begun to howl and drown out their ability to communicate with each other without extreme difficulty, he had gotten them all to situate similar stones in between every huddled pair of the Fellowship. They had not questioned him about it, but they had certainly given him rather odd looks. However, after the snow had really started to fall their curiosity had been sated as the wizard infused each stone in turn with some warmth to keep the worst of the cold at bay. It had worked, so far, but the freezing temperature was proving to be quite a determined opponent. Gandalf was having to renew the heat in the stones far more frequently than he had originally thought; and the constant drain of energy was starting to wear upon him.

Gritting his teeth, the Grey Pilgrim slowly levered himself up off the ground, his joints creaking and protesting the movement. His own internal temperature was beginning to fluctuate, exhaustion lingering at the very edges of his being as he did his best to keep the others warm. They couldn't stay there much longer, not like this. He'd turn into an icicle ere long and that would leave the Fellowship in rather bad straits.

Leaning over, Gandalf tapped Aragorn lightly on the head to get the ranger's attention and pointed around towards the leeward side of the great stone that served as one of their walls. Aragorn nodded in understanding, for there could only be one reason the wizard would go out into the storm. Stealing himself, Gandalf stumped off in the general direction he had pointed. There was an elf that needed to be found before any decisions could be made pertaining to their current situation; but he doubted that Elrohir had strayed too far.

The elf had been making the rounds to gauge the fury of the blizzard and determine whether any foes lingered nearby. The cold rarely bothered the first born, though admittedly, those of the elven race _could_ freeze to death if they were careless. Thus, Elrohir was well suited to his task and, no doubt, preferred it that way. Gandalf had noted Sam and Frodo's attempts to be friendly to the elf, and could not help but feel a strong upwell of pride over their actions. But the hard truth remained, Elrohir was far too distant now for normal means to reach him. Too many 'if only's had been passed up, too many chances lost. Gandalf still held on to some hope, but it was only a tiny spark, a lost star that had yet to be found.

The Grey Wizard leaned heavily into the wind as he left the shelter of stones, but even so, the fierce gale nearly bowled him over. Such fury _could_ be a product of nature's seemingly random pique, but somehow he doubted that this particular storm was natural at all. The timing and the location for it raised far too many suspicious questions. But just _what_ had caused it... now that was the interesting part. The Misty Mountains had their own powers, and those who strove for the failure of the Fellowship's quest might not be the only ones moving against them. _Such a bother._

Gandalf bit out a sharp curse and stumbled as the strength of the wind abruptly fell off about a dozen or so yards away from the rock shelter. He leaned heavily upon his staff as he regained his balance and blinked owlishly at the soft snowflakes drifting lazily through the air around him. Scowling darkly, he looked back and could not even make out the stand of stones through the furious gale that tore through the pass behind him. Well, that settled it. That blasted storm wasn't anywhere near being natural, not in the least.

Grumbling sulfurously under his breath, the wizard swung back around, raking his gaze out across the pristine landscape. Upon first glance there was naught but white on white on yet more white, but a more thorough examination of the area located a dark smudge standing off to the right in the distance. Elrohir. Well, that hadn't been too hard, but there still remained the task of getting the elf back to the Fellowship. Hopefully, that wouldn't prove to be too difficult. Sighing, Gandalf shook his head at his own reservations and began stumping his way through the snow towards the solitary figure up ahead. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could speak with Elrohir -whether said conversation turned out to be another confrontation or not- and return to the others.

The elf, for his part, paid the wizard scant heed as Gandalf slogged towards him through the thigh-deep snow. His attention was instead focused upon the thick clouds. His head cocked ever so slightly, as if he were listening intently for something faint, something elusive that only he could hear. Gandalf didn't even want to guess at what it could possibly be that would garner such sharp scrutiny from Elrohir, but whatever it was could not be good. The elf was far too tense for it to be otherwise.

Grimacing as he finally drew up alongside Elrohir, Gandalf peered up at the elf and baldly asked, "What is it? What is it that you harken to with those elven ears of yours?"

"There is something there," Elrohir murmured absently, his eyes scanning the clouds above as he listened for the faint whispers he had heard before, whispers that were even now returning in strength as he had expected them to. "There is a foul voice upon the wind. One that speak of doom," he glanced down at the wizard then, his face devoid of expression, "_Our_ doom."

Gandalf hissed out an aggravated breath, he really ought to have expected this. Optimism only worked so well in reality, and even less so in such dire circumstances as this quest. "What language does it speak in?" he asked after a moment's time. If the threat could be defined, even just the tiniest bit, then he might be able to figure out just what he needed to look out for.

Elrohir shrugged at the query, "It has many tongues, so far I have heard the languages of my people, both Quenya and Sindarin. And I have also heard the languages of man, Westron in particular. It also laughs in Khuzdul and mocks in the Black Speech of Mordor, and it speaks in others as well, some that I do not recognize at all."

The wizard swore then, his choice of curses barbed and vicious, for the elf's answer told him much and yet still left him with nothing that he could use. Oh, it did weed out the lesser beings that may have been enticed to move against the Fellowship, but the major powers, the deadliest by far, still remained.

Elrohir arched an eyebrow at Mithrandir's muted theatrics as he crouched down to the wizard's eye level. "Is it Saruman?" he asked, vaguely curious. He knew well that the Istari had abilities above and beyond even those of his own kin, but he had not realized that they could reach quite so far with it.

"It is a distinct possibility," Gandalf conceded with a scowl. "But it could also be one of Sauron's loathsome minions. And... we cannot rule out Caradhras itself," the wizard admitted sourly and turned his gaze upon the forbidding crags that rose above them. "The fetid darkness nursed by that mountain has existed there for far longer than either you or I have tread upon the lands of Arda."

Elrohir nodded silently in understanding. Even back when he had been but an elfling he had heard tales of the evil that welled up from the heart of the Redhorn. Gimli had not been far off the mark in his pleas to avoid the mountain at all costs, though perhaps the dwarf had been lax in illustrating the extent of the threat posed by Caradhras. It had been sheer folly to attempt the pass in winter when the mountain's fury was at its worst. Really, it was no surprise that they were now paying for their impudence.

Gandalf shook his head at the situation as he laboriously turned himself around in the snow. "We should return to the others now," he announced crisply, mentally sighing with relief at Elrohir's quick nod of assent. "We cannot stay in this place any longer, we must strike out and move forward..." he trailed off, his squelching steps halted as it dawned on him that Elrohir was not, in fact, following after him. Hauling himself back around, he looked up at the elf again in pure exasperation, "What is it now?"

But this time Elrohir truly was not paying any heed at all to the wizard. He ignored his companion and the snow, the wind and even the not so vague sensation of foulness writhing about the mountain peak. For he had heard something buried beneath the voice that still whispered of doom upon the wind, another sound that had been almost drowned out by it all. One that was far more important than anything else.

"'Tis the sound of an avalanche further up the pass, distant but unmistakable," Elrohir explained after a time for Mithrandir's benefit. After another moment spent listening, he shook himself imperceptibly and absently glanced down at the wizard, "Return to the others, I will go scout it out and join you shortly with what news I can gather, though I can tell you now that it will not be good."

Gandalf scowled darkly, but nodded reluctantly in agreement before resuming his trek back to the Fellowship's shelter of stones. His countenance grew even darker as he drew near, the concentrated blizzard that had trapped them there was swiftly beginning to die down. That did not bode well, for if there was no more need of it then that meant that its purpose had been achieved. _The avalanche then?_ Gandalf humphed to himself. Bad business all around, as Samwise would say.

The wizard blinked curiously as he rounded the last set of stones separating him from the rest of the Fellowship. Aragorn was not where he had left him. Nay, the ranger was now bent over Sam and Frodo, rifling through the packs piled securely upon the hobbits' chosen backrest, Bill. What ever was he doing?

"Aha!" Aragorn crowed in success as he dragged what appeared to be a small wine bottle out of one of the packs and proudly displayed it to all and sundry. "I knew I had stuck one of them in that pack."

The others looked less than impressed but Gandalf instantly recognized the bottle for what it was. "Miruvor! Splendid idea, I think we could all use a bit of warming up!"

Aragorn grinned broadly at the wizard's offhand praise, but frowned an instant later when he noted that Gandalf had returned to them alone. "Where's Elrohir?" he asked, though it bordered on being a demand, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He was starting to get rather tired of the wizard's attempts to push his brother into interacting with the Fellowship and the lingering animosity that resulted from said attempts. He _knew_ that Gandalf had the best of intentions in trying to chip through the walls Elrohir had erected around himself, but Aragorn just didn't think that the way the wizard was going about it would do any good. In fact, it may even do more harm.

Gandalf blinked again under Aragorn's distrustful gaze and frowned. Well, that was new, though perhaps not unexpected. The ranger had always had a rather strong sense of devotion in regards to his family, and it tended to translate into a rather deep seated streak of _over_protectiveness where they were concerned. Apparently, and unsurprising, that streak now appeared to encompass Elrohir as well. Oh dear, he'd best watch his step around them both then. He _really_ didn't need Aragorn plotting out his untimely demise alongside that blasted elf. There were just only so many things he could watch his own back for.

"Erm," Gandalf coughed lightly and resisted the urge to squirm, "He's gone further up the pass to check out what may have possibly been an avalanche. He will return soon."

"An avalanche you say?" Boromir muttered cynically, shooting the wizard a rather blatant 'you were warned about this' look, "In the Redhorn Pass? I have heard that such things tend to block the way until at least mid-spring."

"Aye," Gimli agreed despondently, "If what Gandalf says is true, then we will not be able to get through. And it will be far too treacherous to attempt to scale the mountains. We will have to turn back."

"Where will we go then?" Frodo asked hesitantly, giving voice to the question that they were all silently asking themselves. "You said that it was too dangerous to try for the Gap of Rohan. What is left to us then if we cannot take the Redhorn Pass?"

Gandalf sighed wearily as he crouched down and grasped Frodo's shoulder reassuringly. "Fear not, there is one way left to us if all others fails. The West-gate of Moria lies not far from here. If we cannot cross the mountains from above, then we must brave the darkness from below."

"We will journey through Moria." _And may none of us come to regret this decision._

---

Arwen was happy. This made Elladan very, very nervous. It wasn't that he begrudged her any of her good cheer. No matter how morose he may have become, he would never want to see his little sister become the same. So it really wasn't the fact that she was happy that was making him nervous, it was the reason _why_ she was happy that was making him want to twitch. The day had started out as any other on their journey. They had roused at first light, had a bit of breakfast, broken camp and continued on their way. However, after about an hour or so on horseback they had run across a field of winter blooming flowers, little white, delicate things. Arwen had taken one look at them and had instantly brought the whole group to a halt whilst she gathered up an armful of the cursed things. The rest of the morning had then been spent listening to her hum contentedly to herself while she wove the flowers into something or other, which, no doubt, was meant for him. Sisters could be such a nuisance.

"Stop giving me that look," Arwen stated blandly as she wrapped a slender flower stem intricately around another.

"What look?" Elladan asked cautiously while he eyed her suspiciously. There was never really any way to gauge which way Arwen's mood might swing when she felt like being whimsical. It was one of her charms, and at the same time, one of his family's most dire banes. She could either be a darling lady, a pure hellion or anything and everything in between depending on how stubborn she felt like being. And in the end, no matter how resistant he was to her overtures and badgering, she would get her way. She _always_ got her way. Her and her damned pout always won out in the end.

"_That_ look, Elladan," Arwen grumbled good-naturedly, arching an eyebrow as she gave him a pointed look of her own. "I don't understand why you're being so paranoid, I'm not going to do anything unpleasant to you."

"Your definition of unpleasant and my definition of unpleasant are entirely two different thing," Elladan sighed melodramatically. It was a familiar, if old argument and one that held no rancor. When she was an elfling and they with barely a century of time to them it would have been accompanied by hair-pulling, poking, or giggling -and sometimes even all three-, but they were far from that time now. Not that that ever really stopped her... "Whatever you have in store for that, I am _not_ wearing it."

"What makes you think that it is meant for you?" Arwen countered irritably as she turned her attention back down to the flowers threaded through her fingers.

"Because you are not so cruel as to inflict it upon the others," Elladan said snidely, smirking just a tad with the knowledge that he had the upper hand, for the moment.

"Cruel?" Arwen blinked in confusion, then shot him a mystified look. Now where was he getting that from. "What does cruelty have to do with it?"

"It is simple, Arwen," Elladan explained, his tone offhand but laced with a touch of superiority, "You won't force it upon any of your escort, because it is their duty to accompany you whether they wish it or not. And while I'm sure that none of them have anything against you, and may, in fact, like you, though the Valar know why, I doubt they'll jump in joy at the prospect of being bedecked in flowers by you. As for Rumil, in particular, I _know_ those aren't meant for him because he does not need the added stress of being your chosen victim on top of everything else."

Arwen hmmphed in annoyance, but surprisingly, did not respond. Instead she focused a thoughtful gaze upon Rumil, who was riding further ahead and thus was not privy to their sibling tit for tat. She absently wove a few more flowers together before she spoke again. "So you noticed that as well then?"

"Aye, it's actually quite difficult to miss," Elladan chuckled ruefully and shook his head, "I'm afraid poor Rumil is quite transparent in this case."

"Mhmm," Arwen agreed readily as she continued her work with the flowers. "He and Orophin have looked up to their brother a bit too much over the centuries, I'm afraid, and now they're all far too serious for their own good."

Elladan snorted and shook his head. "Having Haldir for a role model is sure to turn anyone into anxiety personified. I don't think you can find an elf left in Middle-earth who is as stern and strict as he. And he could _never_ take a joke either, at all, even _Thranduil_ laughed at our antics every now and then. Not so, Haldir. I don't think he's even laughed once in his entire life. How dull."

Arwen bit her bottom lip to stifle the laughter welling up. The twins had never gotten along very well with Haldir, but that really hadn't been much of a surprise. Their personalities had been like oil and water back then, just not a good combination. "He's not _that_ bad," she chided gently, "You just brought out the worst in him, and nearly everyone else as well. And it wasn't much of a surprise either, you were always such brats with those pranks of yours. It's a wonder that father didn't forcibly ship you off to Valinor to give Middle-earth some peace."

"We weren't that bad," Elladan scoffed, "And it would have been cruel of father to do so. We would have easily driven all those who have gone before insane in our usual ways to pass the time while waiting for you all to arrive. So really, all in all, it was for the best. Though," he paused hesitantly for a moment then, a dark frown marring his face, "Perhaps not. Perhaps it would have been best if we had accompanied mother to Valinor. So much pain might have been avoided that way."

Arwen sighed heavily at the return of Elladan's black mood. She supposed it had just been wishful thinking on her part to hope that their light-hearted banter would have lasted longer, but still. She hated seeing him like this. "None of us are ever meant to truly know our future, Elladan," she said softly, "Do not hold yourself at fault for something you could not control."

"I know this." He smiled sadly when she gave him a look of pure skepticism at those words. "Truly, I do. But knowing it does not assuage the guilt nor does it erase the sense that there should have been something more that I could have done."

"We have all felt that way, Elladan," Arwen said soothingly and sighed again, "You are not as alone as you think." She smiled bitterly at his quiet nod of acknowledgement. He knew, but it didn't change how he felt. She could not fault him for that, for she too had a few irrational feelings of guilt over the events of their past. It seemed to be something of a family trait. They had always been remarkably adept at piling guilt, warranted or not, upon their own shoulders, though their father seemed somewhat immune to it. Or perhaps Elrond was simply old enough to have learned better, or at the very least, old enough to have learned how to hide it better. They _did_ know better, but knowledge could only stretch so far when emotions were concerned.

Arwen shook her head at her own thoughts. If she continued down that path she would only end up dwelling upon the dismal past. She couldn't allow herself to do that. Elladan needed her, though perhaps he would argue otherwise. If she did not draw him out of his own personal hell, then who would? Their Galadhrim escort wouldn't have been able to do anything. Elladan's dark mood unsettled them, and perhaps even frightened them a little. They did not know how to interact with someone so hopelessly withdrawn, and certainly not in a beneficial way, nor should they. Elves were not meant for such darkness of the soul. They had little to no experience with such in their own kin, Galadriel had seen to that. The Lady of Light had protected her realm, and all within it, well from anything that might cause such heartache, perhaps too well. But Arwen had seen it, had witnessed the despair that had driven her mother across the sea. Then, she had not known what to do, how to act or what to say, and instead she had been silent when words would have served better. She had always felt that she had failed her mother in that. And while she was sure that her family would deny that there had been any wrongdoing or a lack of empathy on her part, she still felt guilty for it. She would not fail her brother, she would keep the shadows that haunted him at bay for as long as she could... until the end.

"Hmm, is that not Arcanen up ahead?" Elladan asked abruptly, startling Arwen out of her dejected rumination.

"Arcanen?" Arwen blinked blankly for a moment, then followed his gaze to the figure cantering towards them in the distance. "So it is, did he not have scouting duties today?"

"Aye, he did," Elladan responded, his brows drawing together thoughtfully as Rumil broke from the group and went to join their elven scout. "He returns early... and he does not look pleased to be doing so."

"Oh dear," Arwen murmured softly as Elladan urged Brego to join Rumil and gently directed Roheryn to follow in her brother's wake. Arcanen and Rumil had already joined up, the latter beginning to look a bit distressed at the information Arcanen was quietly relaying to him. A feeling of unease washed over her as she caught the soft whisper of _orcs_ passing between the two.

"What is it?" Elladan asked brusquely, staring pointedly at Arcanen as he drew up alongside Rumil, Arwen taking the marchwarden's other side.

Rumil grimaced sourly, but nodded encouragingly at Arcanen's questioning look. The young Galadhrim scout gulped silently, but quickly spoke up, "There are fresh remnants of orc encampments about a league to the west, my lord. They are a day old at best and their tracks lead towards the southwest."

"Orcs," Elladan hissed hatefully. There was nothing he despised more than those abominable creatures. Too much had they stolen from him, too many that he had held precious were gone because of _them_. The very thought that some of those miserable things were nearby was enough to make his blood start to boil. But no, he needed to be calm, there was something of importance niggling at him. "Did you come across any signs of rangers? They have a few outposts in these lands." He frowned at their confused looks, and explained further, "Mithrandir requested that they keep watch over the Shire and protect the hobbits from any marauders."

Arcanen shook his head negatively. "There were a few burnt out cabins to the north, but no sign of any of the Dunedain."

"If the orcs are heading to the southwest then they will surely run straight into the Shire," Arwen deduced with mounting alarm, "If there are no rangers about, then who will protect the little ones?"

Her three companions glanced helplessly at each other. The Galadhrim had a duty to protect the Lady Arwen upon her journey, to hunt down these orcs would certainly be a detriment to that. And Elladan did not want to drag his sister into a dangerous situation, regardless of how much he would enjoy ridding Arda of the odious creatures. On the other hand, it went against the very nature of all present to do _nothing_ when innocents were at risk.

Rumil bowed his head and chewed nervously on his bottom lip. Surely there was a way to exterminate those foul things and keep his charge safe. _What was it?_

---

The plop-plop of splashing water echoed eerily off of the high cliffs now surrounding the Fellowship. Pippin gave a little start and winced at the dreadfully loud reverberations. He sighed heavily and glanced behind him and twitched slightly under the disapproving glare Gandalf was giving him. Well, what did the wizard expect? They'd been waiting there for over an hour while Gandalf tried to figure out the words that would open up the West-gate of Moria. Pippin was _bored_. There was nothing else to do. He couldn't even eat. Any attempts to approach good old Bill and abscond with something or other to munch on was met with an equally fearsome glare from Sam. And so Pippin was stuck with skipping stones across the lake to pass the time.

"Have a care, Pippin," Boromir warned cautiously, squeezing the hobbit's shoulder softly to belie any possible signs of true disapproval on his part. Merry and Pippin were jovial and eager company, but sometimes they read more into his statements than he might actually mean, not unlike his brother, Faramir. "I like not the look of that lake. Best to leave it be."

"I suppose so," Pippin agreed grouchily and toed the stones at his feet experimentally. Sam's _shoes_ had been nice up in the frigid snow, but he much preferred his feet free of constraints, as a proper hobbit should. Not that he had ever been much of a proper hobbit, but it was the thought that counted. Right?

Boromir smiled gently and gave Pippin's shoulder one more companionable squeeze before he turned his attention back to the frustrated looking wizard. He had swiftly come to understand that though wise the Grey Wizard might be, there was much he did not seem to know, and frequently said lack of knowledge tended to land those traveling with Gandalf smack-dab in the middle of one irritating situation after another. The day he could leave all of this madness behind and return home would truly be the best day of his life.

Aragorn stood across from the wizard, his arms crossed and a reproving frown upon his face. "Do you think it was a good idea to let him go off on his own again when we were this close to the gate?" the ranger asked pointedly.

"Do not fear for Elrohir," Gandalf replied absently as he tapped a thoughtful finger against his nose, "He is more than capable of handling a pack of wargs on his own."

"That's beside the point," Aragorn said sharply and leaned heavily against the cliffs behind him. He wasn't sure why, but he just didn't feel comfortable letting anyone be alone in this place, much less Elrohir. It didn't feel right.

"Is it?" Gandalf murmured quietly, turning a piercing, knowing gaze upon the ranger, causing Aragorn to squirm just the tiniest bit. "Do not worry so, your brother will return to us. I have not managed to drive him off just yet."

Aragorn snorted sharply, but left it at that. There was little he could do about it now. He could only wait and hope that his sense of unease proved to be unwarranted.

"Begging your pardon for the interruption, Mister Gandalf," Sam interjected, doing his best to keep an unhappy scowl off of his face, but only succeeding somewhat, "Even if Sir Elrohir kills all of those wargs I don't see why we have to leave Bill behind."

Aragorn stifled a chuckle at the hobbit's choice of titles for the elf in question. Apparently sometime during their aborted climb up the Redhorn Pass Elrohir had expressed his desire for Sam to just call him by his name. Unfortunately, the little gardener couldn't quite let go of his polite, proper upbringing and had started referring to him as Sir Elrohir instead of Mister Elrohir. It made him sound like something of a knight, which really, wasn't that far off the mark if one took the meaning of his name into consideration. But it was still quite amusing nonetheless.

"Sam, you know why we cannot take him," Gandalf chided the hobbit compassionately, "It would be cruel to subject him to the darkness of Moria and we would still have to abandon him at some point, for surely there will be places within the mines where we must either climb up or climb down to continue. Nay, it is best to send him off now when we know that he will be safe."

"But how can we know that he'll be safe?" Sam argued vehemently, "He'll be out in the wilds on his own without any protection. He'll get lost or eaten or he might even starve to death. It is winter, you know."

"Ah, but that is where you're wrong, dear Samwise," Gandalf asserted cheerfully with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "Bill has my own special homemade bit of protection. You need not worry about him. The predators will not be able to find him and he won't get lost. In fact, he'll be safe back in Rivendell sooner than you think, and far safer than he would be if we dragged him into Moria with us."

Sam sighed dispiritedly but grudgingly relented. If the old wizard had placed some magical protection on old Bill then he'd put his faith in it. Mister Gandalf might be a bit on the odd side -and possibly senile at times-, but he'd never let them down before. Sam would believe in him, what else could he do?

"Aha, and our errant knight doth return," Gandalf announced jauntily and waved his hand out at the northern edge of the stagnant lake.

Aragorn's head shot up, his eyes eagerly seeking out and finding his brother. Elrohir was swiftly jogging towards them, skirting the edge of the lake, but giving the still waters a rather suspicious look. It seemed like Aragorn wasn't the only one who felt uneasy in this place. He wasn't sure whether that was comforting or alarming.

"How fare the wargs?" Gandalf asked conversationally when Elrohir drew within earshot. Well, to be fair, Elrohir had been within hearing range of them even before the wizard knew of his presence; but Gandalf had waited to speak up until the elf was close enough for the others to hear any possible reply.

Elrohir shook his head but did not respond until he came to a halt next to the wizard. "What wargs?" he asked aloofly in return.

"I see," Gandalf grumbled in annoyance and resisted the very appealing urge to whap the elf on the head with his staff. Instead he turned his attention back to Sam. "It will be safe to release Bill now and it would probably be best to do so while we figure out how to get these doors open."

"All right," Sam muttered forlornly, "But I still don't like it." He gave Elrohir a quick, sad smile of welcome before trudging off to say goodbye to his dear pony.

Elrohir thoughtfully watched Sam go before turning a curious look upon the irritable wizard. "You do not know how to open the West-gate."

It was more of a statement than a question, but Gandalf grumpily replied anyway, "No, I don't. The blasted doors don't seem to like any of the logical commands I've tried."

Elrohir's lips quirked slightly in amusement at the wizard's apparent bad mood. Truly, it was no less than he expected from the Grey Pilgrim. Mithrandir _always_ bit off more than he could chew. Smothering a chuckle that would only invite the wizard's ire if he gave it voice, Elrohir turned his attention upon Frodo and Gimli. The hobbit and dwarf had plopped down directly in front of the gleaming doors at some point during the long wait and were now quietly muttering absently to each other over what could possibly open them.

"You do not know how to open them, Gimli?" Elrohir asked curiously as he gazed down at the pair.

"Nay," Gimli grimaced, "As loathe as I am to admit it, such knowledge passed from the hands of my kinsman long ago."

"I see," Elrohir murmured and nodded in understanding. Things had a tendency to change or get lost as time inexorably moved forward and mortality only aided in the forgetting. Often one generation did not know what the generation that had come before had known. Such change and loss had been the reason his father had kept a close watch on Isildur's line, in hopes that the past would not be repeated.

"It is a riddle," Frodo piped up excitedly, "I am sure of it, but I cannot figure it out. If only Uncle Bilbo were here, he would know what the answer is."

"Hmm, a riddle you say." Elrohir frowned mildly as he looked up at the writing glimmering in the moonlight. He cocked his head as he read off the words written upon the stone. "Ennyn Durin Aran Moria: pedo mellon a minno..." he trailed off at the last and took a quick step back as Frodo and Gimli hastily scurried out of the way. The cliff had begun to groan upon the utterance of _mellon_ and a crack had swiftly appeared in the center of the doors.

Elrohir glanced back at Mithrandir, who was cursing rather colorfully, as the West-gate of Moria opened before them. "You did not think to speak it aloud, did you?"

"I did speak it aloud," Gandalf shot back sharply and glared darkly at the elf standing rather proudly in their midst.

"But you did not speak it in its own tongue," Elrohir pointed out unnecessarily and grinned smugly as the wizard's glare turned positively frosty.

Gandalf growled under his breath and whipped around, waving his staff somewhat menacingly at the rest of the Fellowship. "All right, the thrice-damned doors are open now. But before we can continued on our journey we need to divide the remains of Bill's packs equally amongst ourselves. The food also needs to be rationed out before entering the mines." He ignored the expected groans from the hobbits but still explained the reasoning behind the rationing for their benefit, "Nothing edible grows down there and there certainly won't be any animals to hunt so what we've got now will have to last us the entire way. So no _snacking_." The hobbits groaned again at his strict instructions, but nodded in grudging acceptance.

Aragorn tuned them out as he stepped up beside his brother and eyed Elrohir critically. The elf looked fine, if a little dusty and windswept. It wasn't surprising really, Elrohir was always fine when he returned to them, but Aragorn just couldn't seem to shake off that uncomfortable sense of unease that he had been feeling. Something just wasn't right. "You are well?" he asked softly, his words too quiet for the others to hear but elven ears would not miss them.

Elrohir glanced at the ranger, his brows drawing together in some confusion. Surely Aragorn could tell that he was fine. Physically, at least. He was about to brush off his little brother's concerns with a simple, non-expressive 'yes', but stopped himself for once. Why tell a half-truth? What was the point? Shrugging indecisively, he turned his gaze out over the still, silent lake. There was something there, a dark presence, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

"No," he admitted finally and crossed his arms, "I am not. I do not like this place."

Aragorn blinked in shock. He had not been expecting an answer after Elrohir's shrug, had, in fact, thought the gesture would be the only acknowledgement he would receive for his trouble. The admission was a surprise, but he couldn't say that it was a completely unpleasant one. It was... kinda nice to know that Elrohir hadn't completely pushed him away just yet. Maybe there was some hope after all.

Shaking his head, Aragorn brushed those thoughts to the side for the moment and joined his brother in eyeing the lake suspiciously. He could think about all of that later, this was more immediate. "I do not like it either," he muttered bleakly in agreement, "Something just isn't right here."


	12. Moria: In the Dark

**Perennial  
Moria - In the Dark  
_by Meimi_**

---

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with J.R.R. Tolkien or anyone who hold rights to Lord of the Rings. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.

Note #1: This story is basically Alternate Universe, though, perhaps I should say Alternate Timeline since it is still based in the same world, events just happen differently.

Note #2: I actually had a lot of trouble writing this chapter and I'm still a bit uneasy about it. I had to rewrite a lot of it after I finally managed to get it out and I'm still not sure whether it turned out all right. Please, feel free to let me know what you think about it. I would really appreciate it.

Note #3: Movie canon? Book canon? Hell, I don't know anymore.

---

It did not take long to divide up the contents of the packs appropriately and redistribute them out amongst the Fellowship. While several of them weren't too keen upon entering the Mines of Moria, they certainly didn't want to stay where they were any longer than necessary. There was just _something_ present in the air that set them all a little on edge. The sooner they were gone from it the better.

Frodo grunted slightly under his breath as he shouldered his newly acquired pack and adjusted the straps that easily turned it into a hobbit sized backpack. Granted, it wasn't too heavy, the weight of the packs had been distributed quite fairly and the hobbits had gotten the lighter ones due to their size and build. Gimli, on the other hand, had argued hotly for his to be laden down as much as possible, citing the sturdy build of his people as his reasoning for such. Frodo was just glad that his own wasn't going to be awkward to carry around. He hadn't fancied the thought of stumbling around in the dark carrying around a moderately heavy bag that he had to shift around every few minutes to avoid dropping.

After a few more adjustments, the pack's weight settled comfortably against Frodo's back. There, that should do it. He should be able to get where ever it was that they were going without suffering a backache or anything of the like. Smiling contentedly, Frodo glanced around at the others. Boromir was helping Pippin get his own pack settled properly. Sam, meanwhile, was rather intent upon shuffling his pots and pans about so they didn't clank up against each other. Gimli was standing stock still in front of the West-gate, gazing long and hard into the deep darkness beyond. As for Gandalf, who still appeared quite disgruntled, Aragorn and Elrohir, they were all standing near their dwarven companion discussing something or other amongst themselves. And Merry, why he was standing over by the lake, his toes almost touching the water, giving the still, stagnant waters a rather suspicious look. What was that all about?

Shrugging to himself, Frodo walked over to his fellow hobbit and gently prodded him. "Merry? What are you looking at?"

Merry started in surprise, his attention too focused upon the lake to have noticed the ring-bearer's approach. "Oh hi, Frodo," he laughed self-consciously and scratched at the back of his neck. "It's nothing really, there's just something... not right here, you know?"

"Yes, I know," Frodo said softly. _And so do the others_, he added silently as he looked back at the group in front of the West-gate and took note of the occasional wary glance Aragorn and Elrohir kept giving the lake. "But don't worry, we won't be here much longer."

Merry nodded wordlessly in agreement and gave the cliffs behind them a quick glimpse, shivering unconsciously as his eyes skittered uncomfortably over the yawning darkness of their chosen path. Truth be known, he didn't feel any better about where they were going than where they were now. Both places just seemed very wrong to him and he wasn't sure why. He wasn't a wizard or an elf or anything special, he was just a hobbit. Hobbits didn't get _feelings_ about things like this, they were sensible people... And now he was starting to sound like Sam. How mortifying.

He humphed in disgust at his own thoughts and gave himself a little shake. This nonsense needed to stop right now. He was Meriadoc Brandybuck, responsibility was the furthest thing from his name. These bizarre feelings that were making him so uneasy could go right back to where they belonged, which was probably Sam's head.

"Merry," Frodo began apprehensively, nudging the distracted hobbit to garner his attention, "What do you think that is?" He pointed out across the lake to an odd bit of swirling bubbles that were coming up on the far side from them. They had started just a moment ago, but swiftly seemed to be growing in ferocity.

Merry squinted and peered hard at the bubbles. The feelings of unease that he had been trying to convince himself to get rid of began to scream at him as the bubbling began to expand towards them. "Uhm, fish maybe?" he guessed weakly, but couldn't quite bring himself to believe that it was something so simple as fish anymore than his fellow hobbit could.

"Do you really think that any fish could live in _that_?" Frodo asked in pure disbelief and gestured emphatically out at the dead, stagnant lake.

"No, not really," Merry muttered and nervously glanced around at the rocky shore they stood upon before sharing a worried look with Frodo. "I think we should maybe get as far away from the water as possible."

Frodo nodded his complete agreement at Merry's suggestion and they both scampered quickly over the pebbles and back towards the rest of the group. The lake continued to produce more and more bubbles as they hurried away.

Gimli, in the meantime, had been silently standing in front of the now open West-gate of Moria for quite awhile now, leaning upon his axe and staring uncertainly into the vast darkness beyond. Every few minutes or so he would heave a troubled sigh and unconsciously finger the blade his axe.

Elrohir watched Gimli's antics, or lack thereof, and felt himself growing oddly curious at the dwarf's demeanor. Before he had left to go take care of the warg pack that had picked up on their trail, Gimli had seemed rather eager at the prospect of entering the mines; but ever since he had joined back up with the Fellowship the dwarf had seemed a bit withdrawn and no longer appeared to be pleased about where their path was taking them. It was an odd turn of events and Elrohir found himself wondering as to why.

Frowning slightly as he pondered upon this new little oddity and then failed to come up with a reasonable explanation for it, Elrohir stepped up beside the dour dwarf and crossed his arms. "Tell me, Gimli," he said quietly, meaning his inquiry to be only for dwarven ears and none other's, "What is it that troubles you so?"

Gimli huffed, though it almost bordered upon a sigh, his breath ruffling the bushy mustache of his beard. The dwarf seemed to hunch up on himself at the elf's inquiry and the silence stretched out uncomfortably between them. After a few moments more, Elrohir assumed that he would not receive any answer at all. But just as he decided to turn his attention to other things, Gimli gave a hopeless shrug and directed a sharp, wary glare upon the elf. "I cannot express the eager awe I feel at the opportunity to enter into the halls of my forefathers and witness for myself the splendor of Khazad-dum. No dwarf worth his salt would feel otherwise."

"And yet?" Elrohir prompted, keeping his voice even and calm to encourage his dwarven companion to continue.

"And yet, I cannot help but hesitate all the same," Gimli said sadly, his expression growing almost as dark and dismal as the gate standing before them, "For I fear what we may find once we step beneath the mountains. Balin, along with several of our kinsman, sought to reclaim Moria some years back. It was their greatest wish to drive the rancid evil from our ancestral home. But we have not heard from them for many years now." The dwarf shook his head unhappily and puffed out another hard breath before concluding glumly, "It does not bode well."

"No, it does not," Elrohir agreed somberly and peered hard into the darkness that gathered just beyond the opened gate. While it was true that the elves had been gifted with generally superior senses when compared to the other races, Elrohir was finding it difficult to pierce the gloom with his own sight. He could make out a flight of stair not far distant from the West-gate, but he could not fathom where they might end or perhaps even turn a corner. There was something about the shadows that lurked within, something that he couldn't quite place; but nevertheless he had the distinct impression that whatever it was it was something that was terribly, dreadfully _wrong_.

_Choosing this path was a mistake,_ he thought cynically to himself. They would only succeed in finding death in the Mines of Moria. He stole a quick glance over at Mithrandir, who was involved in a rather animated discussion with Aragorn and Boromir on how to keep the hobbits and their preternatural urge to eat from compromising their dignity. The hobbits would heed the wizard's command to not snack, but inborn instincts were difficult things to ignore.

Elrohir sighed soundlessly and looked back through the gate. He was torn. They were all eagerly, or perhaps not so eagerly, preparing to enter the long dark of Moria and travel through to their inevitable end. In all honesty, he truly did not care if he met his own end beneath the crush of earth and stone where not even the light of the stars could reach him. It would be... poetic, in a way. But his father had asked him to watch out for Estel, and letting his little human brother blithely walk heedlessly into his doom wouldn't serve that purpose very well. _What to do?_

"Get it away!" Frodo shouted, the ring-bearer's nigh ear piercing shriek slicing through Elrohir's indecisive pondering and effectively focusing the attention of the entire Fellowship upon him. Well, him and Merry, who, along with Frodo, was doing a rather comical hot foot dance as _something_ slithered ineffectually around their feet.

"It's a snake!" Merry yelled, his voice wavering frantically as he bounced from one foot to the other, doing his best to avoid that _thing_ trying latch onto their feet. "Do something! Anything! Just get it away!"

Sam, being the gardener that he was and having dealt with many a snake in said chosen profession, instantly rushed to the aid of his fellow hobbits. No snake had ever given a Gamgee pause. The rest of the Fellowship stood frozen for several seconds, the pure adrenaline rush caused by Frodo's harried scream now warring with something akin to bemusement within them all.

_Just a snake,_ Aragorn thought with some relief as he watched Sam draw his knife and make a futile grab for the offending creature. _A snake... out in the dead of winter..._ The ranger grimaced as he shook his head, drew his sword and started towards the three distressed hobbits. In these lands snakes hibernated during the winter, safe from the freezing temperatures. No matter what species it might hail from, no true serpent would be up and so active in the cold weather. No, the chances of that being something so simple as a snake were slim to none.

"Sam, don't touch it! Frodo, Merry, get away from it!" Aragorn barked out sharply. But the _snake_ seemed to _hear_ him as well as the hobbits, for the instant the ranger's voice became only an echo upon the cliffs the thing froze, then snapped around one of Sam's ankles and yanked.

The gardener squeaked as he was jerked off of his feet and dragged towards the water's edge. "Sam!" Frodo yelled in dismay and dove for his friend, grabbing the stout Gamgee under the arms and holding on for dear life as he tried to prevent them both from being dragged into the water.

The _snake_ had other ideas. The water just beyond the bank bubbled and frothed furiously, then two more _snakes_ whipped out to join its fellow and snatched at the nearby hobbits, hauling Sam, Frodo _and_ Merry high into the air above the lake just before Aragorn could reach them. The ranger cursed sulfurously and immediately charged into the water, swinging Anduril in a wide arc at the closest _snake_, severing it completely. Merry screamed in terror as he plummeted into the seething water, but his cry was drowned out by an unearthly wail rising up from the depths of the lake.

"Oh Valar," Aragorn whispered in complete shock as a forest of snakes, nay, _tentacles_ rose out of the water around him. What in all of Arda _was_ this thing? What dark pit had spawned it and how had it gotten here? The sound of metal slicing through flesh to his right succeeded in breaking the ranger from his awed stupor just as one of the closer tentacles swung down at him. He ducked under the blow, severing the agile appendage as he rose back up and began chopping his way towards the two remaining hobbits. The others were with him now, they _would_ save Frodo and Sam from this _thing_.

Elrohir growled silently as he slid out of the way of a barreling mass of tentacles and swiftly twisted the hilt of his sword in his hands, cutting cleanly through the cursed things with a backhanded strike. His hesitation at helping the hobbits had been plain stupidity on his part. He had _known_ that something wasn't right with this lake. He should have _known_ that there had been more to the _thing_ causing the hobbits' fright. Instead it had taken Aragorn rushing to their aid to shake him from his mistaken and short lived relief. _I am such a fool._

_I could fix you too._

The elf flinched violently as the seductive voice slithered into his mind. Of course, the Ring would find this to be the perfect opportunity to try and convince him to claim it. He should have known.

_Yes, you should have,_ The Ring laughed mockingly, _You should have known that I would take any opportunity given._

Elrohir frowned at the apparent insinuation in the Ring's derisive tone. He nodded absently at Gimli as the dwarf enthusiastically cut through another mass of tentacles to his left, returning the vicious grin the dwarven warrior momentarily graced him with. _You summoned this thing, did you not?_

_Of course I did._ The elf could practically hear the sneer permeating the Ring's answer. _Unlike you,_ I _am not a fool._

Grinding his teeth in impotent fury, Elrohir bent himself to the single task of clearing a way for Aragorn and Boromir, who had both managed to reach the tentacles holding Frodo and Sam while the Ring distracted him. Gimli crowed boisterously as the hobbits were freed by the two men, swinging his axe to the side in an almost careless move and slicing neatly through the three tentacles that had begun to rise from the water nearby. They were winning, or so it seemed.

The deafening roar that rose from the lake immediately after the hobbits were freed, unfortunately, disabused them of that notion.

"Hurry! All of you, get through the gate before it can regroup," Gandalf proclaimed, his commanding voice somehow ringing out above the horrible din as he herded Pippin and a waterlogged Merry towards the West-gate.

The remainder of the Fellowship needed no further instructions and waded quickly out of the foul water, Aragorn carrying Frodo while Boromir toted Sam over his shoulder. Gimli and Elrohir fended off the tentacles that followed, backing swiftly through the gate after the rest had entered into the Mines of Moria. They all shivered as an unholy shriek reverberated outside when the thing realized that its prey had managed to escape its grasp. Perhaps in a fit of pure fury driven frustration, the appendages closest to the gate grabbed ahold of the stone doors and slammed them shut, engulfing the Fellowship in utter darkness as the horrendous sound of a rock slide echoed outside.

When the clamor at last died down to something of a dull roar, Gandalf chuckled weakly behind them. "Well, that was a bit unexpected." Elrohir twitched and briefly wondered if he could get away with throttling the wizard before reluctantly discarding the idea. The others would be able to discern his luminescence before he succeeded in murdering Mithrandir.

"Does anyone have a torch?" Frodo asked, his voice wavering from either the shock of the attack, relief that he was safe or the fact that he had been thoroughly drenched in ice cold water. Or perhaps all three...

"Just a moment." The sound of shuffling of some sort followed the wizard's muttering, then mild cursing and finally words that only Elrohir could hear but still could not quite make out. A white light shone blindingly from the top of the Grey Wizard's staff then before dying down to a much more manageable glow. "Never fear, I do have my uses," Gandalf said proudly as the Fellowship rubbed at their dazzled eyes.

"Could have fooled me," Boromir grumbled under his breath, grasping his arms tightly as he began to shiver uncontrollably in his waterlogged armor.

"I _would_ suggest that we move on," Gandalf announced cheerfully, "However, I think it would be prudent if you all changed out of those wet clothes first before you catch your death."

Aragorn stared at the wizard as if Gandalf had lost his mind, then shook his head in exasperation and started to unlace his jerkin. "Nice choice of words there."

---

Her Galadhrim escort had long since set up camp, much to Arwen's growing consternation. They had, in fact, scouted out a secure location for their camp and settled down long before it was necessary. Then they had had an early supper, one that had been garnished a bit more than usual thanks to the extra time their early stop had granted their scouts in digging up a few roots and some hardy herbs here and there. It had been nice, to be sure, but unnecessary and the reason why was really starting to rankle her nerves.

"Rumil!" Arwen growled hotly as she stalked over to the Lorien elf and glared down at him. Once their new camp had been established, the marchwarden had gathered up all of the Galadhrim's cloaks and was now in the process of sewing them together. Arwen knew _why_ he was doing this, of course, but she just didn't see the need for it. She was quite capable of taking care of herself.

"Yes Arwen, did you need something?" Rumil said blandly, not even deigning to look up at the elf maiden.

Further incensed at Rumil's blase demeanor, Arwen fisted her hands tightly. "They are gaining ground while we just sit here!"

"Then they shall be two days ahead of us instead of just one," Rumil replied, his tone just as even and unconcerned as it had been before.

Arwen practically shook as she barely resisted the wholly satisfying urge to smack some sense into the infuriating elf. Instead she turned an imploring, yet demanding, glare upon her brother who sat not far from them and had been watching the ongoing theatrics with mild interest. Elladan gave her one of the twins' patented 'What do you expect me to do about it?' looks in return.

Well, he was no help at all. Sighing, Arwen forcefully released the tension building up in her body and glanced back down at the utterly unaffected marchwarden. Smirking slightly, she watched him expertly stitching the garments together before lightly commenting, "Would you like me to teach you how to embroider, Rumil? You certainly seem to have a talent for sewing."

"No thank you, Arwen, I already know how to do that," Rumil declared, grinning smugly at the flabbergasted expression that crossed her face at his announcement.

"Ar- are you mocking me?" Arwen demanded in annoyance and defiantly planted her hands upon her hips. If he thought he could get away unscathed with making fun of her, he had another thing coming. Even Galadriel wasn't spared her temper in that regard. Of course, her grandmother always set her off on purpose for her own amusement, but that was beside the point.

Rumil chuckled at her reaction and continued with his work. "Far be it for me to ruin whatever image you may have of me in that head of yours, but yes, I do know how to embroider. Quite well, in fact."

"Well," Arwen muttered after spending a few seconds blinking in surprise at his answer, "That's different. Dare I ask why?"

"There has only been the three of us for all of these years, Arwen," Rumil explained matter-of-factly, "And while the people of Caras Galadhon raised us well, there are some things that one must learn how to do on their own. Sewing happened to be one of those things for me, and I decided that if I was going to learn how to do it then I was going to learn how to do it well and not stop halfway."

"Oh," Arwen murmured, deflating sadly at the reminder that not all of her friends still had parents to call their own. Admittedly, none of the three brothers were truly bitter about their lot. They had lost their parents back when Rumil and Orophin had still been very young, and while their remaining memories of them were few and far between, they knew that their mother and father had loved them very much. Thus, it was just another little regret, one whose pondering upon could be used as a distraction from other far more painful ones.

Shaking her head to free it of such melancholy thoughts, Arwen frowned. No, she would not think about that now. She would not allow herself to be distracted from the source of her present irritation. "I still do not see the reason for our continued delay. They are getting away!"

"It is simple, Arwen," Rumil sighed, his eyes rolling heavenward in a very put upon manner. He had already explained this several times before, and would probably have to explain it many _more_ times before she was content, or at least something vaguely resembling contentment. "We are going to hunt down and exterminate those _vermin_. However, _you_ will not participate at all in the upcoming battle." He raised an imperious hand, forestalling any further arguments from her. "I do not care how well you are capable of defending yourself. And yes, I do know how skilled you have become under Orophin's tutelage, but that is neither here nor there. The Lady has given me the duty of protecting you upon your journey and that is what _I'm going to do_."

Arwen scowled at the repeated explanation, not willing to give up the argument just yet. "And this," she grumbled while gesturing pointedly at the mass of cloaks strewn about Rumil's lap, "Is going to solve the problem?"

"Yes, actually, it is." Rumil smiled pleasantly as he tied off a stitch and bit off the trailing thread. "The cloaks of the Galadhrim will serve to hide you and Roheryn from any prying eyes... as long as you don't do anything stupid."

"You are giving me a lot more credit than usual," Arwen murmured and grinned impishly, "Remember, I typically do not listen very well to what others expect me to do when I feel like doing otherwise."

"You _will_ do this, Arwen," Rumil stated flatly, his voice pure steel as he glared up at her, "You are not a fool. You well know that we would all be distracted if we had to worry about protecting you in the midst of battle. Distractions kill."

"I know," Arwen sighed tiredly, relenting at last to Rumil's logic. She kneeled down in front of him, hugging her knees, and gave him a contrite look. "I am sorry. I do not mean to be such a nuisance, but I just don't like the idea of being unable to _do_ anything to help."

"None of us do, Arwen." Rumil smiled apologetically and started on another stitch. "But it is something we all must face at one point or another. If this were another time and another place, I would eagerly welcome you beside me in battle without hesitation, for I well know how fierce you can be."

"Of course you would," Arwen snorted in disbelief, "But beside you? I think not. You would have me as far away from you as possible so you wouldn't have to listen to my caterwauling, as you have so often put it in the past. But I thank you for the thought anyway, the sentiment is appreciated." Leaning forward impulsively, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before rising to go join her brother.

---

Slowly but carefully, Elrohir extricated himself from the two hobbits that had been using him as a pillow. Once Frodo had determined that it wasn't _just_ Gandalf's staff that was providing light for the company, neither he nor Sam had been very keen on letting Elrohir out of their sight, even going so far as grabbing onto his hands and walking along beside him as if they were elflings and he their keeper. It was really quite disconcerting.

The others hadn't helped much either. Mithrandir had only given them the occasional amused glance, though the wizard had been smart enough to not laugh outright at Elrohir's predicament. He _would_ have killed the Grey Pilgrim with extreme prejudice had that happened and damned be the consequences. Gimli hadn't paid any attention at all, instead the dwarf had entertained and enthralled Merry and Pippin with grand tales of his people. Boromir had joined them, asking sporadic questions here and there during the telling. Aragorn had, at least, had enough sense of self-preservation to look somewhat apologetic over Elrohir's _problem_, but had not even attempted to rescue him from them. Really, weren't brothers supposed to be a bit more useful than that?

He had hoped that his two hobbit limpets would find something else other than him to focus their attention upon once the Fellowship had come across a suitable room to rest in for the night. Unfortunately, said hopes had been for naught. Not even Pippin nearly taking a header down a rather deep hole in the floor had been cause enough for them to release their hold upon him. Thankfully, they _had_ let go long enough to eat, but had returned, along with their bedding, immediately afterwards. Were they trying to drive him mad? If so, they might possibly succeed.

Shaking his head at the situation, Elrohir stepped silently over the slumbering hobbits and made his way over towards Mithrandir. The wizard had announced that he would take first watch over supper, much to the elf's annoyance, and had earned himself yet another reason for Elrohir to kill him once this was all over. Upon reaching Mithrandir's side, Elrohir scowled and waved his hand ineffectually through the pipe smoke that hovered around the Grey Wizard.

Gandalf cocked a bushy eyebrow at the elf but scooted over a bit on his rocky perch, giving Elrohir room enough to sit down. "My, but this is a surprise. My beloved pipe-weed has caused even your father to pause and reconsider approaching me every now and then. And yet here you are, braving the pungent aroma to come speak with me. Such a courageous lad."

Glaring acidly, Elrohir seated himself rather stiffly beside the wizard and tried to not breathe in too deeply. "You know full well why I'm here."

"Mmm," Gandalf hummed in agreement as he studied the reluctant young elf lord beside him. Elrohir was visibly displeased, but that was nothing new. The tension and constant battle readiness were nothing new either, but there _was_ a different, newer sense of stress just beneath the surface now, and it wasn't _he_ who had put it there. "Aye, I do know why you seek me out and it is not because I am constantly annoying you in one manner or another, nor is it for one single reason either."

"Then you know of my... concerns." Elrohir scowled slightly and wrinkled his nose up at the smoke. He could almost believe that it had a mind of its own the way it drifted lazily about him. And perhaps it did, he had witnessed Mithrandir making moving images out of his pipe's smoke before, after all.

"Yes, but which shall we approach first?" Gandalf nodded thoughtfully, his brows drawing together in contemplation. "Perhaps the darkness of Moria itself?"

"There is something here," Elrohir asserted softly, allowing the wizard to direct their conversation to his own liking for the time being. "It was a mistake to come here."

"Aye, it was, but it was one that had to be made," Gandalf admitted, wincing as a sharp edge jabbed into his rump as he shifted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. "The other paths left to us were worse. Caradhras would have certainly killed us and if we had detoured any other way then either Sauron or Saruman's minions would have caught up to us. By choosing this path there is at least a likely possibility that one or more of us will make it through."

"You are not expecting all of us to survive Moria," Elrohir stated flatly, not at all surprised at this revelation. He could feel the heavy, unnatural darkness lurking at the edge of the light, waiting patiently for the right moment to fall upon the Fellowship and snuff them out like candles.

"No, I do not. I doubt very much that I will." Gandalf sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He would never have said so much to any of the others, yet there was no denying that death clung to Elrohir like a second skin and thus made it so much easier to discuss it with the elf. It felt right, and perhaps that was the most wrong thing of all.

"What are you expecting?" Elrohir asked as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the stone wall behind them.

"Goblins, undoubtedly, and possibly some cave trolls. The usual, but it is not they that I fear," Gandalf grimaced and watched as a stray bit of ash drifted out of his pipe and floated gently to the floor. "Nay, what I fear is that we will have to contend with Durin's Bane ere before we are free of the Black Chasm."

"Durin's Bane?" Elrohir repeated, his eyes widening in shock. "The balrog? It still resides here? You say that this is the best path even though it leads us into the realm of a _balrog_?"

"Yes, and it shall be my doom, no doubt," Gandalf grumbled, yanking his pipe out from between his teeth and dumping the ember across the floor, scattering them in his agitation. "I am watching for it, and will continue to do so, but I suspect that perhaps you might sense it even before I do. If you feel anything, even the slightest tingle of that thing's cursed darkness, you must tell me. I _must_ know of its approach, Elrohir."

"Of course," the elf murmured and watched the scorched pipe-weed flare and fall into ash at their feet. He was still a bit too surprised at this new knowledge to do much else. The worst he had been expecting to run into upon this fool's quest had been wraiths, but a balrog... that was something entirely different. Was it even possible to kill a balrog in this age?

"Good good, it will be best if we know ahead of time so that we may prepare," Gandalf said quietly, appearing as if every one of the long years that he had lived now settled about his shoulders not unlike a shroud. He too watched the ashes burn themselves into nothing for a time before finally disturbing the silence stretching between them again. "You must not pay heed to the Ring."

"It is hard to ignore something that speaks to you directly," Elrohir remarked, his eyes still trained upon the dying embers.

Gandalf shook his head, the elf's comment confirming one of his suspicions. "Your grief attracts it, Elrohir, like a moth to a flame. But you must not listen."

"Do not fear for me." Elrohir smiled sardonically as he glanced back up at the wizard. "What it offers holds no interest for me whatsoever. It is only an end that I seek. What possible use could I have for such a thing when it can give me nothing that I desire?"

"Death is not everything," Gandalf groused irritably and scowled darkly at the almost flippant way that the elf seemed to view it.

"It is for me," Elrohir refuted, the plain sincerity in his statement silencing the wizard more effectively than anything else could.

_Don't be so sure._

Elrohir stiffened and stole a quick glance over towards Frodo. The hobbit was sleeping soundly, one hand reaching up from beneath the blanket wrapped around him to grasp at something upon his chest. The Ring. _I'm not listening._

_You will in the end._


End file.
